Magics Unknown
by He-Who-Laughs-At-His-Own-Jokes
Summary: It's been 3 years since the Dragonborn defeated Alduin. The Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold becomes entangled in an adventure. He hadn't expected this; nor had he expected the darkness that has arisen. AU of Dawnguard. Arch-Mage is not Dragonborn. Rated M: language/violence/future sexual content. M!OC/Serana. All credit and ownership to Bethesda.
1. An Aperture and a Horker

**I'm editing this chapter. I got the impression people went "blech" after reading it before. Now it's better.**

**The main character's name, Ptolomey, is pronounced "tall-oh-may". I got the idea from Ptolemy, the Greco-Roman astronomer and mathematician. Seems to fit a mage I would think.**

**I'm aware that some of the things I'm putting in here aren't accurate in the game, but that is why it is an AU. **

Ptolomey awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Gods, he hated nightmares. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he calmed himself. He placed his bare feet on the cold stone floor. The chill helped bring him back to the waking world; a world which often was no less enigmatic than the dream world. At least in his experience it wasn't.

He rubbed some sleep from his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't been sleeping well this past month. Despite what some of his associates believed, sleep was important. Researching and experimenting for days on end was alright in some instances, but a good sleep often gave him surprising insights when he awoke. That phrase "sleep on it" had its merits, it seemed.

He heaved himself to his feet, which were beginning to get cold. He walked over to his wardrobe. He took out the Archmage's Robes; the symbol of his position here at the College of Winterhold. Sometimes he still couldn't believe he was the Arch-Mage. He was by far the youngest Arch-Mage there had ever been.

He slipped the robes on, feeling its enchantments course through him. One unique quality of the robes was that they kept him at the same comfortable temperate no matter the weather or conditions. He decided to keep the hood down. He wasn't going anywhere today.

He put on his specially made boots and fingerless gloves. It seemed odd to wear fingerless gloves but it was one more thing to provide enchantments. His boots were also enchanted. He liked to have every advantage he could get.

Lastly he put on his 2 rings and his amulet. The rings were gold with golden yellow diamonds, as was the amulet. He loved the color. It didn't remind him of anything; he just loved it. Their enchantments were the most powerful and made him shiver as they coursed through his body.

He shrugged his shoulders to settle the robes more comfortably. He always felt better after putting it on. It gave him assurance that he could handle whatever lay ahead. He walked over to the mirror and examined himself.

He was tall for a Breton and very muscular. Not bulky but very defined. Most people thought mages were skinny little weaklings, and most were. Then again, he hadn't always been a mage. His black hair fell between his shoulder blades and was tied at the nape of his neck. His face had made more than a few women's breath hitch. He was what they called "ruggedly handsome". His full beard was very short, almost to the point of not being a beard.

Ptolomey then looked himself in the eyes. His strange eyes. They were different colors. It wasn't that one was blue and the other was green. It was much more bizarre than that. His eyes changed colors almost constantly, from blue to black to white to red and everything in between.

They had been his main reason for coming to the College three years ago. No one knew why his eyes did this. He still didn't know. There were several theories, but no proof any were correct. He believed the most likely reason was they were a side effect of his ability.

He could feel ... something. He wasn't entirely sure what it was. But it seemed to struggle, like two minds fighting to control the body they shared. He didn't know what it could mean or be. No one else seemed to have ever had the same condition. It was either him going mad or it was something very important.

_"Yeah. 'Cause going mad wouldn't be important, would it?"_ he thought dryly.

Ptolomey turned away from the mirror and walked toward the stairs leading down to the Hall of the Elements. He telekinetically called the Staff of Magnus to him. As he grasped it, he could sense all the spells being cast within the College. It was one of the Staff's powers that he'd discovered. He could sense a powerful Conjuration spell. Phinis Gestor was experimenting again, it seemed. Other minor spells of Illusion and Restoration were also being cast.

He studied the Staff for a moment. It had changed since he'd found it in Labyrinthian. Its head was still the same but the shaft had become longer and thicker, so that it was more like a walking staff. The bottom was no longer as pointed, so he used it like a walking staff. Maybe it could alter itself to fit its possessor's preferences. That was the only explanation he could come up with.

Footsteps echoing in the stairwell brought him out of his pondering. Tolfdir emerged and gave him a polite nod which Ptolomey returned. The old man was always a stickler for propriety. Even after two years, he refused to refer to Ptolomey as anything but Arch-Mage. He was a kind man and Ptolomey liked him a lot, but that was a little ridiculous.

"An aperture has appeared, Arch-Mage," Tolfdir said.

Ptolomey frowned. "After all this time?" he asked. The apertures that had appeared after the little fiasco with the Eye of Magnus had stopped after eight months. That had been just over a year ago.

"I find it strange as well, Arch-Mage. However, the description matches the aperatures from before almost perfectly. It is in the Pale, less than a mile from Dawnstar to the west."

Ptolemey gave Tolfdir another nod. "Thank you, Tolfdir. I'll take care of it immediately." He paused as a thought came to his mind. "Would you assist J'zargo with an experiment? He wasn't able to locate you yesterday and asked me to relay his request."

"Certainly, Arch-Mage," he replied crisply.

He gave Ptolomey another nod which he again returned before walking past him to the stairwell. He'd gone down several steps before another thought struck him.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said sticking his head back into his chambers. Tolfdir looked at him expectantly. "Tell Colette that if she bitches to me again about someone stealing her godsdamned research materials I will turn her into a horker."

Tolfdir's jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out of his head at either the Arch-Mage's language or his threat. Probably both. Ptolomey continued down the stairs before Tolfdir saw his grin.

**Hope you like it so far. Colette Marence annoys the hell out of me. Cry me a river, Colette, cry me a river. Hopefully the chapter is better the second time around.**

**Ciao**


	2. An Unfamiliar Face

***sniffs* I've ... I've never had a follower before. *sniffs* I'm so happy. *weeps uncontrollably* Sorry. But it's true. Well, onward and upward.**

Ptolomey brought his horse to a stop as he reached the crest of the ridge. The cold wind made his robes flap against him but its enchantment kept him warm. His horse snorted softly, his breath misting before being blown away. He patted the beast's neck absent-mindedly. His attention was focused on the glowing, pulsating aperture in the valley below.

It looked exactly the same as the apertures from before. The magika radiating from it was the same as well. Except that there was much more of it. This was the largest one he'd seen; nearly three times the size of the ones before. Magical Anomalies were already buzzing around, and he could see the bodies of several bandits and merchants.

"It's a shame they have to be discovered this way," he sighed to himself. Or the horse. Or whoever was paying attention.

He whispered a quick prayer for the dead before dismounting. He tied his horse to a nearby sapling. Taking the Staff in hand, he trudged through the calf-deep snow toward the aperture. The Anomalies ceased their wandering and turned to "look" at him. He counted seven in all, but more would appear as he approached.

The aperture began glowing more brightly. Ptolomey prepared himself. The pulse of blinding light and chiming noise made him shield his eyes. Almost immediately, over two dozen Anomalies were swarming towards him. His hands leapt into action.

Ptolomey cast Lightning Wave, a spell Faralda had created. It was a Shock spell that sent Shock energy out in a wide area attack. It wasn't as powerfull as Chain Lightning, but it hit multiple targets and didn't require as much energy. The Anomalies quivered as part of their essence was ripped away.

He followed it with another Wave as he drained their essence with the Staff. Several popped out of existance while others began veering off to the sides. They intended to surround him and pummel him to death. For some reason, despite being made of magical energy, this was the only way they attacked.

Something struck Ptolomey in the side and sent him stumbling. He turned to see who was attacking him. A flash of blue/white light rushed toward him. He used the Staff to cast a Ward, which dispelled the energy. The Staff did more than absorb magical energy. It could act as a conduit for spells, also amplifying them slightly. That was the reason it drained magical energy.

Ptolomey blinked the spots in his vision away to look at the attacker. The Anamoly sent a spear of its energy toward him. This time he stepped to the side and let it pass by. So they'd evolved. He smirked to himself as he cast Lightning Cloak and began draining with the Staff again.

Another Wave destroyed two more while the Staff drained another. Ptolomey ducked as one swooped toward his head and swung the Staff at another. He hit it and it exploded, the Staff absorbing its energy. He felt another explode behind him as the Cloak did its job. Another blast hurled toward him and he cast another Ward with the Staff. The Anomalies circled him and began to close in.

He cast Wall of Storms around himself. This kept them from coming any closer. He then spun the Staff in his hands. As he did, Fire began building up along its length. He brought it above his head and slammed it against the ground. Fire Storm erupted around him and the remaining Anomalies exploded.

As the fire burned away, Ptolomey looked around. The snow had melted and was running toward the bottom of the valley. He used the Staff to absorb the energy of the Wall of Storms he'd cast and the spell disappeared. Several trees were on fire so he used Ice Storm to put them out.

The aperture was still there, just out of range of the Fire Storm. He walked carefully towards it. He didn't know what other tricks it might have up its sleeves. If it had sleeves, anyway. He kept his eyes on it.

When he'd approached it, it seemed to turn towards him. He could swear he saw something inside. A face; a woman's face made from the energy. It seemed to be speaking but he heard nothing. As he stared at it, the face swirled away and the aperture folded in on itself and disappeared. Ptolomey stood there in confusion.

This was new. None of the other apertures had done anything like this. He hadn't recognized the face. He could tell little more than it was a woman and seemed young. Also, the apertures never folded in on themselves. They exploded like they were defying him as he destroyed them. Something was wrong.

To further emphasize this feeling, that "struggle" he sensed seemed to intensify. He couldn't be sure, but it felt as though one side was becoming stronger than the other. It was beating its opponent back and gaining the upper hand.

Ptolomey was troubled by this. He needed to get back to the College and discuss this with the others. He hurried back to his horse. He'd barely climbed into the saddle before he took off at a trot. His robes whipped around him, just as his thoughts whipped around his mind.

_"Something is very wrong. I can feel it."_

**Shorter chapter. I'll keep updating as often as I can. School is in full swing, so it probably won't be every day. We'll see how it goes. **

**For supposedly being so powerful, the Staff of Magnus did basically nothing. I was disappointed in it. So I'm expanding its abilities. Also, I think the Staff being more like Gandalf's staff was better than whatever the hell it is. **

**Well, ciao.**


	3. Discussions and an Illusion Spell

**The plot thickens. Enjoy.**

Ptolomey paced the floor of the Hall of the Elements. He'd asked Tolfdir to ask everyone to meet here half an hour ago. So far Urag gro-Shub, Nirya, Faralda, and Enthir had arrived. They stood in various states of impatience. Enthir was pacing as well, but he was just bored. Nirya and Faralda were staring at each other like strange cats in the same room. Urag showed no emotion at all.

Ptolomey was trying to piece together exactly what he was going to tell them. He was probably thinking about it too much. He didn't need to have any possible explanations. That was why he was meeting with everyone. Yet he felt like he should at least try to offer one. He had a few ideas but he didn't feel they were solid.

_"You expect too much. Just tell them what you saw."_

Finally, Tolfdir enter the Hall leading all the other mages and students. Most of them looked as though they'd just woken up. Not surprising given it was past midnight. Except for Phinis; his clothes were singed and he smelled of smoke. Apparently his experiment hadn't gone quite as planned. Or maybe it had worked perfectly. It was impossible to tell since Ptolomey didn't know the nature of the experiment.

Ptolomey wasn't one for theatrics, so he got right to it. "If you aren't aware, an aperture opened today in the Pale." Several brows furrowed at the news. "It has been closed and all Anomalies destroyed." Their gazes turned more questioning, wondering why he'd asked to speak with them if the problem was dealt with.

He relayed the details of his encounter. Their eyes grew distant as they pondered what this might mean. Ptolomey gave them several moments to think before he spoke again.

"Based on what I saw, I'm almost certain this aperture was not related to the incident involving the Eye of Magnus. It's been too long, and the Anomalies were too different. The face appearing in the aperture is particularly troubling. I would like to hear your thoughts on this matter."

They were silent for several moments before Drevis Neloren spoke. "Are you absolutely certain this aperture is not related to the Eye?" he asked.

"No, I am not, Drevis," Ptolomey replied. "I said I was almost certain. We don't understand the Eye or the apertures it created. It was beyond our comprehension. However, I believe this aperture was too different have been of the Eye."

"What more can you tell us about the face?" asked Faralda. The High Elf received a glare from Nirya, who apparently had been about to ask the same. Those two needed to grow up.

"Little, I'm afraid. It was a female human, short of middle years, and if I had to guess, I'd say it was a Nord. Beyond that I can't say," he replied.

"What of the ... feeling you experienced after the aperture closed?" Phinis asked. He didn't believe that Ptolomey's "sense" was anything of consequence and almost never failed to express this belief in one way or another. Ptolomey tolerated the man but he certainly didn't like him.

"It felt as though the struggle began to shift in favor of one of the forces," he responded rather curtly. "Seeing as no one knows what the sense may be, I don't know what it could mean." Everyone knew their was a bit of bad blood between them and several shifted slightly in anticipation. Nothing more came of it, though.

"It's possible another magical artifact could be responsible," Urag's gruff voice broke the silence. "Something that may not be in Skyrim at all." The College was aware of most every den of necromancers and rogue mages in the province and nothing indicated any of them were responsible.

Ptolomey nodded. "That is most likely."

"The chances of another artifact as powerful as or more powerful than the Eye being found are virtually nonexistant," Phinis countered. "Did not the oculory in Mzulft show no sources of magical power other than the Eye and the Staff?"

"You're correct, Phinis, but there should have been thousands of light points. The Staff and Eye created too much interference to display any other objects of magical power. It is possible an object as powerful as the Eye could have been covered by the interference," he replied. Phinis pursed his lips in thought. Everyone else looked thoughtful as well.

Tolfdir spoke up. "Perhaps a visit to Mzulft would be enlightening. With the Eye gone, perhaps the oculory will be able to perform the task to a better degree."

"But won't the Staff still create interference?" Brelyna Maryon asked.

Tolfdir nodded and said, "It may, Brelyna. However I do not believe that will be the case. The Staff is not nearly as powerful as the Eye. And because the two are connected somehow, I think the Eye increased the Staff's power, which is why it was displayed by the oculory as well. With the Eye gone, the Staff shouldn't give as much interference."

Ptolomey stroked his chin as he thought. Tolfdir was right. A trip to Mzulft was in order. Everyone began talking quietly to each other. Phinis and Colette were speaking together. That was odd. They didn't like each other at all. They disliked each other almost as much as they disliked him. They felt he didn't deserve the position of Arch-Mage, despite being the overall most talented mage there.

They saw him looking at them, so he shifted the Staff in front of him. He liked to remind them who he was and who they weren't. He wasn't sure it was a good idea but it felt good to see them glower at him. He continued to meet their gazes until they turned away. Something was wrong with those two.

At that moment, Ptolomey sensed an Illusion spell being cast somewhere. He looked over the mages but no one appeared to have cast anything. Everyone was present, and there was no reason to Muffle their footsteps. He had the feeling that someone was trying to spy on them. He couldn't tell whare the spell had been cast though.

He cast Detect Life with the Staff. It showed nothing. He then cast Detect Dead. It did show something. Something was crouching near the entrance to the Hall. As soon as he saw it, the thing opened the door and disappeared into the night.

Everyone had seen the Staff light up and turned questioningly to him. "Someone was spying on us," he explained. They all began casting Detect Life to see for themselves. "It's gone now," he told them. "It was undead, whatever it was. A vampire most likely." Faralda called for the students to follow her and search the grounds. They wouldn't find anything. The spy would be long gone.

"Why would a vampire be spying on us? Why would one even come here?" Phinis asked. His tone was suspiciously disbelieving; he wasn't really asking the question. Several mages studied him with hints of suspicion in their eyes.

Ptolomey turned to give him a cold stare. "Why, indeed," he replied. Phinis looked down his nose at him before turning on his heel and leaving. Colette lingered for only a moment before leaving as well. Ptolomey stared after them for a second before walking over to Tolfdir.

"Make sure to keep an eye on those two," he told the Master Wizard quietly. "They're acting strangely and I don't like it."

Tolfdir nodded slightly. "I agree, Arch-Mage. This behavior is very unlike them. I'll make sure they're monitored." Ptolomey nodded before walking over to Sergius and Urag. The pair ceased their conversation as he approached

"What do you make of this?" he asked them. Besides Tolfdir, he liked these two the most. They were refreshingly straight-forward and blunt. He'd even had a few fist fights with Urag to blow off steam. The Orc may be old, but he was not frail. He spoke first.

"I don't know what to make of it, Ptolomey," he answered. It was nice to be called by his name again. "Nothing I've read mentions something like what you saw. If I had to guess, I would say it was a Daedra's doing."

"But the description Ptolomey gave doesn't resemble any form any of the Daedra have used before," Sergius agrued. "Unless this woman was someone you know," he questioned Ptolomey.

Ptolomey shook his head. "I don't know anyone who looks like that." The image hadn't been particularly clear, but he was sure of that. He sighed in frustration. "This is a lovely little riddle, isn't it?" The pair grunted noncommittally. The others began to leave for their beds.

"Maybe you should ask the Augur of Dunlain," Sergius said.

"I'd rather avoid that," Ptolomey replied. He didn't like the Augur. It was such a pessimist, going on about knowledge destroying you. Obviously it had been unable to deal with being destroyed in its experiment. It had turned bitter. Just because it couldn't handle the power didn't mean it could keep others from seeking it!

"Why?" Sergius asked. Ptolomey raised his eyebrows at him.

"Why? Because I don't like the bastard, that's why," he replied bluntly. Urag gave a grunting chuckle while Sergius shrugged. "Be glad you've never met it. It'll suck all hope and joy out of you."

"So what _do _you plan on doing?" Urag asked.

"Tolfdir's right. I'm going to go to Mzulft; have another look at the oculory. I suppose everyone should continue business as usual," he said. The College didn't need to suspend its activities for him. If and when he needed any help, he could ask for it then.

Urag clapped him on the shoulder. "Good luck to you, friend," he said heartily.

Ptolomey clapped the Orc on the shoulder. "Thank you, friend," he replied. Sergius gave him a nod before they all went to their respective quarters. It was quite a walk up the stairs to the Arch-Mage's Quarters. That was probably a good thing. It kept the Arch-Mage from becoming too fat.

Ptolomey couldn't sleep that night. He didn't even lie down. He sat in his chair, thinking about what he'd seen and what it could mean. The aperture, the spy, the shift of power he'd felt, Phinis and Colette. It couldn't be coincidence. Something important was happening or about to happen.

The thing that refused to leave his mind was the face. Who was it? _What _was it? What did it mean? Despite how he felt about sleep, he didn't think a good rest would shed any light on the subject. That woman, the face he didn't recognize. What did she have to do with this? He sighed as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

_"Who are you? And what were you saying?"_

**Can you feel it? The suspense? Maybe it's just me. It's true about the Augur. I don't like it. Or him. Or whatever. Doomsday "knowledge destroys" bleh bleh bleh. At least he's down in the sewer.**

**More coming soon. Ciao.**


	4. The Hunter and the Bastard

**Shorter chapter. Enjoy.**

He paced the halls, thinking about what to do next. This was getting desperate. While they continued to grow, he remained stagnant. Something had to be done, and soon. They would overwhelm him, crush him, if he didn't. But what to do?

A man approached him. He was dripping wet and left muddy bootprints on the stone floor. Apparently the rain hadn't let up in the last four hours. The man offered no salute, which suited him just fine. Saluting was a waste of time.

The man met his eyes grimly. "They didn't make it," he said in a voice equally grim.

"Godsdammit," he growled. That was the second one in the last month. He'd never had that happen. He was better than this. What was he doing wrong?

_"Nothing. I'm doing nothing wrong."_

It was them. They somehow knew more than they should. Did they have a spy here? He didn't believe that was possible. This place was too secure, too isolated. But really, what alternative was there? A Daedra? He shuddered at the thought. At least, he would have had he been a lesser man. So he growled under his breath instead.

He had to do it. Gods help him, he didn't want to. He had no choice now. It had to be done. That didn't mean he had to like it.

"We're going to do it," he said at length. The other man's eyes narrowed as he frowned.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked.

"Of course it's not wise, but we're out of options. If we don't, we will be overrun. Go tell the others."

Celann scowled but didn't argue. He turned on his heel and strode toward the sleeping quarters. The others should be in their cots, catching a few winks before heading out again.

Isran sighed. This would give away his location in the long run. Openly recruiting always did. Things were too desperate not to, though. When the vampires find Fort Dawnguard, they'll find it a hard nut to crack. They would win this war. They had to.

()

Harkon lounged in his throne-like chair. His court dined on the finest quisine there was: living Altmer. A ship full of Thalmor had been driven ashore on the island and Harkon had graciously allowed them to stay. It would have been rude to leave them outside to freeze to death. Blood didn't taste as good after it had been frozen.

The doors that led to the gate opened and Lokil sauntered in. Harkon ignored the man's attitude. He thought entirely too much of himself, but he was useful and ambitious. That was both a curse and a blessing. Ambition led one to do ... unsavory things.

Lokil stood on the other side of the table; in front of and below him, as subjects should be. He gave a flourishing bow, his ornate cloak swirling gracefully. He, like Harkon, had an appreciation for the finer things in life.

"My lord," he began grandiosely, "another band of the pitiful mortals has been dealt with."

Harkon regarded him coolly. The man seemed to be expecting some sort of reply. Some sort of congratulation or some such nonsense. Instead, he asked a question.

"How many?" He continued to eye him coolly.

Lokil blinked and his smile faltered slightly at the question. He recovered quickly. "Four, my lord," he answered no less grandiosely. "They slew only one of ours. A pathetic weakling; not worthy of the name vampire."

Again, the man sought to bolster himself in his lord's sight. He was very willing to serve, however. That could be put to good use, if harnessed correctly. Orthjolf was becoming more and more inadequate. The brute's focus on physical strength was becoming tiresome. Magic was the true power of the world. He, like all Nords, didn't realize this. Lokil wasn't as physically large as Orthjolf, so perhaps he could be swayed.

"Not worthy indeed, to fall to mere mortals," Harkon said. "Names must be earned; by wealth or power, or deeds accomplished. I have a task which could raise the one who accomplishes it up." He arose and went to join Lokil.

As he walked, he spoke. "These Vigilants of Stendarr. And these unknown "vampire hunters"," he inflicted the term with a great deal of mockery, "they must be reminded of the order of things. While we may not know where the "hunters" reside, the Hall of the Vigilants could be found by a deaf, blind man." His court laughed at the insult as Harkon stood in front of Lokil.

"Destroy the Hall of the Vigilants, and recover the item from Dimhollow Crypt. I assure you, success would prove most ... fulfilling for the one responsible," he finished in a quieter voice, lest Orthjolf or Vingalmo hear him. Lokil's eyes grew hungry, not for blood but power. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Harkon continued in a louder voice. "But not at this moment. For now, we feast!" The court gave a cheer as more Altmer cattle were brought in, twisting vainly against their bindings. Harkon used the distraction to pull Lokil closer.

"Go now," he told his fellow Nord and vampire. Lokil tipped his head in a bow and slipped inconspicuously away. With his eagerness to serve, he'd be far more useful than Orthjolf.

Harkon laughed heartily as he returned to his throne. The young Altmer woman that lay before him on the table twisted and squirmed. Harkon's eyes ran over her nude body. Her large breasts heaved as she panted. She was slick with sweat, making her golden skin glisten. Harkon licked his lips.

She was quite pleasing to the eye. She would be just as pleasing to his palate. She looked at him with eyes filled with terror and tears. He smiled cruelly at her, his fangs elongating slowly.

She screamed around her gag before he drove his fangs into her neck. Her struggling ceased immediately. He drank reverently. There were too few Altmer in Skyrim. They should be savored, like rare wines. You needed to keep them as long as you could.

Before he drained her dry, Harkon removed his fangs from the beauty's graceful neck. She snapped out of the trance his bite had put her under but she didn't struggle. She simply stared at nothing, sobbing quietly. Harkon cut the ropes that bound her and removed the gag. She still didn't struggle.

He slipped his arms under her naked body and carried her away from prying eyes. Now that he had consumed more blood, certain regions of his body would work. Regions that were necessary for what he intended to do to this tight little elf.

After all, he _did _appreciate the finer things in life.

**This is how I picture Harkon. Slimy little toad. A toad that turns into this big ugly-as-sin werebat thingy. What happens to his expensive clothes when he ... pops? He's rich, he can afford new ones.**

**Not sure when the next chapter will come. Ciao.**


	5. Only More Questions

**Back to Ptolomey. Enjoy.**

Ptolomey wasn't surprised they'd returned. The Falmer were nothing if not persistent. There weren't as many as there had been the first time. No doubt the survivors had warned others to stay away. It appeared that no matter your society or level of intelligence, someone always disobeyed.

He heard a blade whistling through the air. He ducked and the Falmer blade passed above his head. He spun around and pinned the ugly creature to the wall with an Ice Spear through its head. Another cast Frostbite at him, which he simply absorbed into his magika reserves. Being skilled in Alteration certainly paid off. He hit the Falmer with an Ice Storm, freezing its skin and spinning it around. He finished it off with an Ice Spear to the face, causing it to do a backflip.

"Well, that was fun," he sighed contentedly to himself. It had been some time since he'd gone out in the field like this. He missed it. Experimenting was well and good but it grew dull after a while. Administration of the College was dull whether he'd been doing it five minutes or five hours; but it was his duty to the College. Thank the gods he had Tolfdir for everyday activities. He would have stepped down otherwise. Well, maybe not.

Little had changed since he'd last been to Mzulft. The bodies of the Synod mages were mostly bone now, as were the Falmer he'd killed. He'd encountered no more Automatons, which was good. Those things were hard to bring down. It was a shame the Dwemer had disappeared. He could have learned a lot from them.

Ptolomey opened the door that led to the oculory. The corridor beyond was empty and appeared undisturbed. Paratus Decimius' camp was exactly the way he'd left it. Paratus himself was lying on the floor. His skeleton was, anyway. Ptolomey had killed him before leaving. He didn't want the Synod sticking their nose into the College's business, and getting it ensnared in their politics. That hadn't really been his decision to make, but he was glad he had. He walked past the mound of bones without a second glance.

He walked up the ramp to the top of the oculory. He looked at the wall where the map of northern Tamriel was. It wasn't there. He looked at the machine. The beams of light were no longer hitting the lenses. That made sense. They would have changed temperature and the focus would be altered. He cast Frostbite on the machine until the beams were properly aligned. He turned his attention back to the wall.

The map now appeared as it should. There were hundreds, maybe a thousand, little pinpricks of light dotting it. The vast majority of them were very small. There were a some larger than them but only seven drew his attention. One was where Mzulft should be.

"Thanks for not interfering," he said to the Staff as he gave it a twirl. Talking to inanimate objects. Best not to let Phinis or Colette see that. They already thought he was going mad.

Another bright spot was in Hammerfell, near the city of Sentinel. A third appeared to be in Vivec, Morrowind. Yet another was located near Daggerfall, High Rock. Ptolomey barely noticed these, for it was the three remaining points that worried him the most.

One was to the south and east of the Staff. It appeared to be somewhere in the Velothi Mountains, which formed Skyrim's eastern border. Ptolomey didn't know of anything of importance there, so this puzzled him. The second was just as puzzling.

The second was on the western end of Skyrim, somewhere in the Druadach Mountains. Again, Ptolomey knew of nothing of any importance there. Perhaps that was the point. Where better to keep something powerful? Besides in plain sight. That was always the best place to hide something.

The location of the third sent a chill down his spine. It was in the northwest corner of Skyrim, on what could only be the island on which Castle Volkihar stood. Yes, the College knew of the supposed "court" of ancient vampires that dwelt there. They thought they were unknown to the world but they were wrong.

The College tried to monitor their activities, which was difficult. No vampire had come to the College for ... ever, as far as he knew. No one was allowed in. If you were, you came out a vampire or not at all. Whatever these vampires were planning to do with this object, it couldn't be good.

Ptolomey turned away from the map and sat cross-legged on the floor. The Staff lay across his knees, his hands resting on it. This was very troubling. What did it mean? He needed to find out what these objects were and who possessed them.

The struggle he sensed continued on, two warriors hammering away at each other. No change had occured since that day he saw the woman's face. It was strange that he referred to that day by her face, of all things. He hadn't noticed doing so before. He shook his head, shoving the frivolous thought aside. Right now he needed to get back to the College and confer with the mages.

"You need to go to Fort Dawnguard. Now," a female voice spoke behind him. Ptolomey leapt to his feet, preparing Thunderbolt in one hand and casting a Ward with the Staff in the other. He spun around to face the stranger.

No one was there. Only a floating ball of light, hovering at head height several yards away. He looked around to find the source of the voice. He still saw no one. He hadn't felt any spells being cast. The voice spoke again.

"You can release your spells and stop searching. I will not harm you," the glowing orb said. He stared at it with calculating eyes. He'd never seen something like this before. Well, the Augur was somewhat similar but this was something else. He released his spells but didn't let his guard down.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"That is not important," the orb replied. "Time is short. You must go to Fort Dawnguard. You know where it is. Now go. With all haste, go!" The orb disappeared.

Ptolomey blinked in confusion. Fort Dawnguard? He didn't know of any Fort Dawnguard, let alone where it might be. And who or what was that orb? Was it a friend or an enemy? Its didn't seem to be an enemy, but the most dangerous enemies never did. It was the hidden enemies that slit your throat in your sleep.

It seemed as though it had responded to his thoughts. Just as he'd thought he should return to the College, it showed up and told him to go to Fort Dawnguard. _Had _it read his thoughts? Only a Daedra or an Aedra could do that. Was it one of them? And if it was, which one?

He didn't believe it was an Aedra. They'd never communicated in this manner before, as far as he knew. So it was probably a Daedra. He knew it wasn't Namira or Nocturnal. They didn't do such things. It could be Azura or Meridia. Both of them weren't really considered to be evil and both had to do with light, in a way. But its refusal to tell him who it was made him doubt that. What reason would they have to hide themselves?

This made him believe it was either Mephala or Boethiah. Liars and tricksters, the both of them. To appear as something opposite of their nature would be ... of their nature. Ptolomey frowned at the contradiction. But why would it not claim to be either Azura or Meridia, or even one of the Aedra? Why not make him more likely to trust it?

Despite all of his deducing and reasoning, he was back to where he started: he had no idea who it had been. Against his better judgement, he decided to do as the orb said. But where to go? Then it dawned on him. It must be one of the two lights on the map. Probably the one to the southeast. It may be one of the ones in the other provinces, but he doubted it.

He headed down the ramp back to the corridor. A skeever scampered into a crack in the wall as he approached. Ptolomey knealt down and looked into the crack. The skeever leapt out with its mouth open. Ptolomey leapt backward and cast Flames. The skeever squeaked as its fur caught fire and began scampering back to its crack. Ptolomey rushed forward and kicked the pest. It gave another squeak and slid across the floor. He continued to cast Flames until it stopped thrashing. The air smelt of burnt hair and flesh.

"Mm, crispy critter," he said lightly as the carcass snapped, crackled, and popped from the dissipating heat. Skeaver meat wasn't good. It was very tough and tasted like ... shit. There was no other way to describe it. Whatever they ate, it made their flesh taste just like it.

Ptolomey turned away from his over-cooked adversary and headed to the lift that would take him to the surface. Why he hadn't just gone down the lift in the first place he didn't know. Maybe he just wanted some adventure. It had felt good to kill those Falmer, so he wasn't upset with himself. He stepped inside the Dwemer machine and pulled the lever. He decided to head to the southeast, to what he hoped was Fort Dawnguard.

It would prove to be perhaps the most important decision of his life.

**Did you see? I made a funny. Rice Krispies, Snap Crackle and Pop. Crispy critter. Get it? *cricket chirps* Well, I thought it was funny. **

**More coming soon. Ciao.**


	6. Like a Sir

**Thanks for those reviews. I can't believe I actually got some. This chapter's a little longer. Hope you like!**

Ptolomey led his horse through the narrow cave. The horse snorted irritably and tried to pull away. He kept his grip on the reins and pulled the horse harder. He didn't like the cramped dark place either. Regardless, he needed to get to Fort Dawnguard. This looked like the only way to get there.

They continued in the dark for several minutes before the light at the other end appeared. The cave opened into a rather beautiful valley. Ptolomey took in the view. The waterfalls cascading into the small lake; the wind gently blowing through the trees; the rather gangly youth waving both hands over his head like an idiot.

_"Well, that killed the mood," _he thought grumpily.

Ptolomey climbed into the saddle and rode down the path. He had the Staff tied to his back and the hood of his robes up, obscuring his eyes. Maybe the idiot would have sense enough to keep to himself. Unfortunately he didn't.

"Hey, you here to join the Dawnguard too?" he asked in a rush. The youth's eyes flashed with nervous excitement. He practically radiated energy.

Ptolomey sighed to himself. _"Wonderful. Just wonderful."_ A pesky boy to keep him company. Well, it could have been worse. It could have been a sexy woman half hanging out of her skimpy dress trying to get into his pants. Not that he wouldn't have enjoyed that. It just would have been much more distracting and he couldn't afford to be distracted now. He needed to find out what magical item located here was and why someone wanted him to come here.

"Sure," he replied tersely, keeping his eyes forward. Hopefully the boy would take the hint and not speak to him further. The hint was either unnoticed or ignored.

"Great. My name is Agmaer. I hope you don't mind if I walk up with you?" he continued in the same nervously excited voice. His voice was irritating. He had to trot to keep up with the horse.

_"Yes, I do mind."_ He wouldn't say that out loud though. He didn't want the company, but he wasn't that rude. Others might disagree but they were sticklers like Tolfdir. He was a very civil man.

"Uh, don't tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess," the boy said.

Ptolomey frowned at this revelation. Vampire hunters. The Dawnguard was an order of vampire hunters. The name had sounded vaguely familiar when he'd first heard it from the orb. Now he knew where he'd heard it. He'd read about in one of the dusty old tomes in the Arcaneum. He didn't recall many details, though. He _did _remember that the Dawnguard hadn't existed since the Second Era.

The boy continued his nervous babbling. "You've probably killed lots of vampires, huh? I'm sure Isran will sign you right up. I don't know if he'll take me. I hope so."

Ptolomey glanced at the old axe hanging on the boy's hip. The blade hadn't been properly sharpened for a long time. If it was anything to go by, he wouldn't be accepted into a second-rate bandit camp let alone a guild of vampire hunters. Vampires were much more dangerous than merchant guards.

Ptolomey had another thought. Did the Dawnguard's reorganization have something to do with the vampires at Volkihar? It must. He didn't believe in coincidences anymore. A powerful source of magic here _and _at Catle Volkihar? No. It was no coincidence. They must be preparing for war. Maybe the boy would be accepted, if only to bolster the ranks.

"Is it true that if a vampire so much as scratches you you'll turn into one?" the boy asked. Ptolomey was getting more and more impatient with him. When he didn't reply, the boy continued. "Because that would really suck. I mean, how are you supposed to fight something you can't even let thouch you? Maybe they use bows? I'm an okay shot with a bow, but I don't think I could kill a vampire before it got to me. Hopefully Isran will train me. You think he will? I think he will. If he accepts me, anyway."

_"Gods."_ Ptolomey lifted his eyes to the heavens. _"Make it stop. Please."_

"You don't look like a warrior," the boy continued. "Are you sure you want to join the Dawnguard? You need to be able to fight if you want to kill any vampires."

Ptolomey's patience reached its end. He dropped the reins and raised his hands. A large Fireball roared into existance between them. He hurled it at an enormous oak tree. It hit the trunk with a tremendous explosion, splinters of wood flying in every direction. His horse neighed in fear and tried to run away. He focused on the panicking steed. He grabbed the reins and quickly brought it back under control. It still snorted and danced but didn't try to run.

Ptolomey returned his attention to the oak tree he'd attacked. A large chunk of it had been blown away. The wood creaked and groaned as the tree struggled to remain upright. The trunk couldn't take the pressure for long. Slowly, the tree leaned more and more toward the void in its trunk before it gave a loud _crack _and fell to the ground.

Ptolomey looked at the boy. His jaw was barely attached to his head and his eyes were barely in their sockets. He stared at the fallen oak for several seconds before looking at him. He gasped and backed away when he saw Ptolomey's ever-shifting eyes.

Ptolomey met the boy's gaze for a moment before spurring his horse onward. The animal was quivering slightly so he patted it reassuringly on the neck. It seemed to calm down a little. The boy didn't rejoin him as he continued down the path.

_"Thank you, gods" He lifted his eyes to the heavens again._

Fort Dawnguard soon came into view. The structure certainly deserved the title; more so than most "forts" he'd seen. The afternoon sun glinted faintly off of the gray walls which were taller than many trees. It seemed to be built from the mountain itself rather than next to it. He would have to have one of the scholars come down and document this place. After he concluded his business, of course.

He heard an unfamiliar sound coming from ahead. As he came around a huge column that supported part of the fort, he saw the source of the sound. An Orc was standing in the middle of a small clearing holding a device he'd never seen in real life. It was a crossbow. He'd seen schematics for the weapon but had never seen one built. As he watched, the Orc fired, reloaded, and fired again in the span of maybe five seconds time. Both bolts hit the dummy on the far side of the clearing right in the head.

_"Good shooting."_ Ptolomey appreciated fine marksmanship and archery, unlike the other mages. True, spells were more powerful than arrows or bolts. However, it required more skill to aim a crossbow, and much more skill to aim a bow. Hitting something with a spell was as simple as pointing at it. He could remember a time when he'd used a bow. It seemed like another lifetime, now.

The path began going uphill, and the shifting of the horse underneath him brought him out of his reverie. The path curved to the right, toward the entrace to the fort. A man with mid-length brown hair was standing beside the gate. Ptolomey dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby sapling. He walked up the steps toward the other man.

The man studied him as he approached. When he looked him in the eyes he inhaled sharply and took a small step back. His hand rested on the unfamiliar axe on his belt. Ptolomey realized what the man was probably thinking and pulled his hood back to prove he wasn't a vampire. Vampires often wore hoods when forced to travel during the day. They wouldn't remove it.

The man relaxed a little but kept his hand on the axe. "You here to join the Dawnguard?" he asked tensely. He looked at Agmaer as the boy trudged noisily up the path. His gaze flicked back to Ptolomey quickly.

Ptolomey inclined his head slightly. "Something like that," he replied. The man's eyes narrowed at the somewhat dodging answer but he made no move to block the way. Ptolomey gave the man a respectful nod before going through the gate into the fort itself.

The gate opened into a large circular room. The ceiling was an enormous dome with a hole at the very top. The sun lit the room through that hole. There were grates lying across openings in the stone floor. He could see water beneath them. Any rain that fell would collect down there. In the center of the room stood two men.

One was a Nord with thinning hair and a warhammer on his back. Ptolomey knew he wasn't Isran. Firstly, no Nord would go by that name; and secondly, he was wore the garb of a Vigilant of Stendarr. A Vigilant wouldn't break off and form another organization to battle the undead. They were a very proud group.

Ptolomey had little respect for the Vigilants. They tried to do a good thing, but in the wrong way. He saw them as little children trying to play with daddy's armor. They just weren't trained or equipped to deal with any true threat.

Isran stood in front of the Nord. The large Redguard had his own warhammer on his back. He had a shaved head and long full beard. Hard gray-blue eyes peered around with almost hostile awareness. This was a hard man; a man who knew what he was doing. Perhaps the Dawnguard could do what they claimed they could.

The Nord was speaking to Isran. "Isran, Carcette is dead. The Hall of the Vigilants, everyone, they're all dead. You were right, we were wrong. Isn't that enough for you?!" he said in a sad voice that turned angry as he finished speaking.

Isran lowered his gaze as he spoke. "Yes, well ... I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you. I am ... sorry, you know." He seemed to have difficulty saying the last sentence. Obviously he didn't apologize very often.

He turned his attention to Ptolomey. "So who are you? What do you want?"

Ptolomey untied the Staff from his back. He strode up to Isran and stopped before him, striking the floor softly with the Staff. Isran ran his eyes up and down the Staff as Ptolomey held it in his right hand. He looked Ptolomey in the eye. He showed no emotion or reaction to the changing colors. He _was _a sturdy one.

"I'm the Arch-Mage, and I want to know what the object is," he replied concisely.

Isran's eyes narrowed slightly. "What object?" he asked evenly.

"The object of great magical power," Ptolomey replied evenly. If Isran wanted to do this, Ptolomey was happy to play along. He'd get the answers he wanted.

Isran was silent for a moment. "Does the College just take whatever magical objects it wants, now?" he asked.

Ptolomey noticed he hadn't answered. "No we don't, and you haven't answered me," he said.

"I don't recall hearing a question."

Ptolomey kept his face blank. "Very well. What is the object of great magical power that you have here?"

"Even if there was something here, why would I tell you?" Isran asked, again avoiding the question.

"So you do have something."

"Did I say that?" the Redguard retorted. Ptolomey raised an eyebrow at him. Isran gave a soft sigh of irritation. "Why should I tell you?" he asked in a more heated voice.

So he admitted it, more or less. Ptolomey adopted a more casual stance and expression. "Something has happened. I don't know what exactly but it is troubling, to me and the College. I must investigate the object you possess to see if it is connected to what has happened."

Isran said nothing, so he continued. "I'm sure it is a weapon you intend to use against the vampires. I have nothing against your endeavour. Vampires are vile creatures that Nirn would be better off without. I won't take it from you. I simply wish to analyze it."

Isran seemed unmoved. "Why should I believe you?" he asked evenly.

Ptolomey thought for a moment. "Honestly, you shouldn't," he said frankly. "It is wise of you to distrust anyone who could compromise your endeavour. I will not compromise it, nor will I take the object. I fear I have nothing more to offer than my word."

Isran looked thoughtful. After searching Ptolomey's face for a while he spoke. "Well that's not entirely true, is it?" Ptolomey frowned slightly. Isran motioned to the Staff. "You have that."

Ptolomey shook his head. "Oh no. I am _not _trading you the Staff."

Isran studied him again. "Then you have one other option. You do something for me, I'll let you analyze all you want."

"What is that?"

"Tolan over there was telling me about some cave the vampires were poking around in. Seemed to think it was related to all the recent vampire attacks. Tolan, tell him about ... Dimhollow Crypt, wasn't it?"

The Nord Isran had been speaking with stepped out of the shadows. "Yes, Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald seemed to think it contained an ancient vampire artifact of some kind. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran."

Ptolomey thought for a moment. Could Dimhollow Crypt be where he'd seen the other point of light? The one to the south of Castle Volkihar? If it was, he could kill two birds with one stone. Even if it wasn't, he'd still get access to Isran's object without having to Paralyze everyone.

He looked back at Isran. "You want me to see what the vampires are doing in Dimhollow, right?"

Isran nodded. "Do that, and I promise you can analyze as much as you like. Provided you come out alive, of course."

Ptolomey prepared a spell with the Staff but did not release it. A ball of fire hovered above the ornate head, lighting up his face and glinting off his eyes. He released the spell once he felt the message had sunk in.

"I can handle it," he assured them. They looked at him for a moment before nodding. Tolan spoke first.

"I'll take you to Dimhollow Crypt and help you kill those monsters." Isran opened his mouth to speak. "I don't want to hear it, Isran," Tolan interrupted angrily. " I don't want to hear 'You're not prepared. You're not properly trained.' I don't give a skeaver's ass. If I die, at least I won't be looking at your ugly face."

He turned back to Ptolomey. "I'll be outside when you're ready." He shot another glare at Isran before storming past the startled Agmaer, who'd managed to slip in unnoticed.

"You there. Boy. Stop skulking in the shadows and step forward. What's your name?" he demanded in his commanding voice.

"I'm ... I- My name is Agmaer, sir!" the nervous boy squeaked.

Isran took a few steps forward. "Do I look like a "sir" to you, boy? I'm no soldier, and you're not joining an army."

Agmaer looked confused. "Uh, no sir. I mean, no ... ma'am?"

Ptolomey burst out laughing. This boy was a complete idiot. That, or he was scared out of his wits. If he wasn't before, he certainly was now. Isran was giving him a stare that would have had seasoned veterans pissing themselves. He turned that stare on Ptolomey when he didn't stop laughing. Ptolomey wiped a tear from his eye and proceeded through the gate back outside.

He was still chuckling as he mounted his horse. Tolan was on a horse of his own farther down the path. Ptolomey trotted his horse to catch up with him. The pair rode in silence to the cave that led to Skyrim.

_"Get in, get the vampires, get out."_ That was all he had to do. Then he could study the object Isran possessed and maybe figure out what had happened. He wasn't concerned. He'd cleared out dens of vampires before. Only twice but he knew what to expect. This would be just like those times and he'd come out just fine.

What could possibly happen?

**Sorry I ended the chapter with a cliché. I also realize Agmaer would never say that to Isran but I wanted to put it in. That was what I had thought the first time I played Dawnguard. "Do I look like a sir?" "No, ma'am." Well, I thought it was funny. **

**Also, if any of you are die hard fans of Elder Scrolls who know everything there is to know about Elder Scrolls, you're probably going to vomit if you continue to read these chapters. I don't know everything and I'm not going to waste time learning everything. I'll look up things if it bothers me enough that I don't know. Ye have been warned.**

**Ciao.**


	7. Stains Removed

**Really short chapter. I just felt like I needed to get something up. I need to think about what I'm going to type next. Sorry to disappoint.**

It turned out a lot "could possibly happen." The first being Tolan losing all his common sense and running ahead of Ptolomey into the crypt. He'd killed two vampires before getting his throat torn out by a strange black dog creature.

The second was the vampires being better than any he'd fought before. They were faster, stronger, and could take more punishment. He'd underestimated the first one he attacked and got an Ice Spike in the shoulder for it. That had hurt like Oblivion! He was more careful of them and their dogs after that.

On a side note, it seemed that his robes were also able to mend themselves. There was no hole in the fabric where the spike had hit. The wonders of magic and magical objects continued to amaze him.

The final thing was the sheer number of vampires. The vampires were stationed at gates throughout the crypt, along with draugr they'd "killed" and resurrected. There had been over a dozen vampires in all; and the farther in he'd gone, the stronger they'd been.

Ptolomey was watching a vampire battle a very large frostbite spider. He was invisible and muffled, so they didn't know he was there. Hopefully. The vampire killed the spider quickly. He gave no indication he knew that Ptolomey was there as he pulled a flask from his belt and drank it.

Ptolomey decided to attack while still invisible. He also decided he wanted to have some fun with this one. He snuck up behind the vampire who was idly examining his dagger. He had the Staff in his left hand and was going to punch the vampire with his right.

It was at that exact moment the muffle and invisible spells wore off. The vampire swung his arm around and backhanded Ptolomey in the face. Ptolomey grunted in pain and was knocked onto his back with a broken nose. He blinked hard to get the stars out of his eyes. When he did, he saw the vampire looming over him with his dagger in hand.

Ptolomey rolled to his left. The dagger struck the ground where he'd been lying. He swung the Staff as hard as he could at the vampire's arm. It did nothing that he could see. The vampire stood straight and cast an Ice Spike. Ptolomey got a Ward up as quickly as he could but a small sliver of ice got through and pierced his hand.

He rose to his feet and lunged toward the vampire. Despite his injury, he swung at the vampire with all his strength. His fist connected with a satisfying _crunch._ The vampire recoiled with a pained hiss but quickly recovered. He stabbed at Ptolomey's torso. Ptolomey deflected the dagger with the Staff and punched him in the stomach, which earned a grunt of pain.

Ptolomey decided at that point he couldn't afford to "have fun" with vampires. He hit the vampire square in the chest with a powerful blast of fire. The vampire was knocked off his feet and fell heavily on his back. Ptolomey hit him with another blast before he could get up. He twitched several times but otherwise didn't move.

Ptolomey groaned as the pain from his injuries resurfaced. His hand and nose were bleeding and his backside hurt. Nothing some Restoration magic couldn't fix. His body tickled slightly as the healing magic coursed through it; except his nose which popped loudly as it was snapped back into place.

He fished a special vial out of a pouch at his waist. He cast a floating globe of light above his head. The was blood on his robes and his glove. He poured the liquid from the vial onto the stains, making them disappear as if they'd never been. He was the Arch-Mage; he could hardly go around with bloody robes. There was nothing he could do about the hole in his glove though.

Ptolomey looked at the door the vampire had been guarding. It was the first actual door he'd seen in this place. It would probably lead to the main chamber, which would hold the artifact the vampires were interested in. Of course, there may not actually be anything there.

_"Only one way to find out."_

**Not sure when next chapter will be ready. Hopefully by Wednesday.**

**Ciao.**


	8. A Familiar Face

**They're going to meet. Hope you like.**

Ptolomey sent a blast of fire at the vampire known as Lokil. Lokil stepped behind an arch as the blast past by. He shot two Ice Spikes in quick succession back at Ptolomey. Ptolomey intercepted the spikes with the Staff which absorbed their magika. He sent a blast of fire from his left hand and the Staff, forcing Lokil to remain behind the arch.

Lokil was here looking for something. It appeared Adalvald had been right. The Vigilant lay dead at the top of the stairs which Ptolomey was now descending. Lokil had been torturing him for information when he'd entered the chamber. Now Lokil was the only one left fighting. His companions were all dead.

Lokil resurrected one of his companions. The vampires both shot spikes at him. Ptolomey blocked them with a Ward before sending a lightning bolt at the resurrected vampire. The body gave a contented sigh as it turned to ash.

Lokil snarled and sent two more spikes flying. Ptolomey dodged these two and attempted to Paralyze Lokil. The vampire's muscles locked up for a moment, but he was too strong for the paralysis to last long. Ptolomey seized the brief oppurtunity and started draining Lokil's magika with the Staff.

Lokil's face turned surprised as his magika was pulled out of him. He sent a constant stream of ice at the Arch-Mage, but it was too weak to do any real damage. Ptolomey put his hand up to shield his face from the cold. Not the best idea.

Lokil leapt toward him with a savage growl. Ptolomey saw him in time to leap out of reach. The vampire hissed at him then lunged forward with his dagger in hand. Ptolomey rolled underneath the vampire's attack and swung the Staff at his legs. Lokil fell forward but was up in an instant. The pair eyed each other as Ptolomey continued to drain Lokil's magika.

"You fight well," Lokil admitted. "It's a shame you're fighting for the losing side."

"I'm on my own side," Ptolomey replied. He watched the vampire for signs of attack.

Lokil laughed. "Your own side? There are only two sides: vampires and their prey. And the prey always loses," he snarled as he leapt at Ptolomey again.

Ptolomey used another of the Staff's unique powers. He used it to telekinetically grab Lokil and suspend him off the ground. Lokil's eyes widened as he looked around in surprise. Ptolomey pointed the Staff upward slightly, raising Lokil toward the ceiling. Then he slammed him against the floor. Lokil cried out in pain as his legs broke. The Arch-Mage twisted the vampire around and pinned him down on his back. Lokil gasped as all the air left his lungs.

Ptolomey walked over to stand above him. He kept draining Lokil's magika to prevent him from attacking. "What is the object, and what were you planning to do with it?" he asked in a hard voice.

Lokil laughed at him. "Foolish prey," he mocked. "The predator doesn't answer to his food."

"Wrong answer," the Arch-Mage replied. He raised Lokil into the air again and slammed him back down. The vampire gave a pained yell as more bones broke.

"What is the object, and what were you planning to do with it?" Ptolomey asked again. Lokil just sneered at him. He twitched and jerked as he tried to free himself from the Staff's clutches.

Ptolomey released the Staff's grip. Using it to lift heavy objects drained its power; the more he moved the object, the quicker the Staff drained. So he pinned Lokil's arms to the floor with Ice Spears. Lokil growled as the ice pierced his flesh. Ptolomey continued to drain the vampire's magika to replenish some of the power the Staff had lost.

Ptolomey studied Lokil for several seconds. "You're not going to answer me, are you?" the Arch-Mage asked rhetorically. Lokil gave him a look that said "No shit." It seemed vampirism had enhanced the Nord's already impressive stubbornness.

"Very well," Ptolomey said lightly. He prepared a powerful lightning bolt in his free hand. "Farewell, spawn of Molag Bal." He fired the bolt at Lokil's head, which disintegrated. The rest of his body remained.

Ptolomey turned his attention to the structure in which he now stood. "Structure" really wasn't the right word for it. It had no roof or walls. It was two series of arches arranged in circles around a small pedestal. Ptolomey approached the pedestal. The top of it looked similar to buttons he'd seen in Nordic ruins.

_"It can't be that simple. Just push the button? No, there must be something else."_

There was nothing else of interest, though. Magic could be involved but he had no idea how it would be. He pondered this for several minutes before noticing something. Not something he saw but something he felt.

That invisible struggle in his mind had changed. One side had been steadily pushing the other back ever since he'd encountered the strange aperture. Now it wasn't. The other side was pushing back, slowly regaining "ground" it had lost. When had that happened? What did it mean?

Ptolomey put these thoughts aside for the moment. He pushed on the button with his finger. Nothing happened. He pushed on it with two fingers. Still nothing happened. It seemed the "button" wasn't a button after all. Ptolomey placed his hand on the pedestal as he considered what to do next.

He felt a stabbing pain in his hand. He cursed loudly and looked at it. There was a spike protruding through his hand from the pedestal. The spike quickly retracted and Ptolomey Healed his hand. The hole in his flesh disappeared without a trace. The hole in his glove remained.

Then he noticed purple light coming through cracks in the floor. He eyed the strange energy warily. Best not to take any chances. He touched the light with the Staff. Nothing happened, so he tentatively stuck his hand in it. Nothing happened. He stepped out of the circle of light.

The light continued through one crack toward a small brazier. The brazier was lit with purple fire. The light continued down a crack to the right but stopped short of another brazier. Ptolomey pushed on that brazier to move it toward the light. When it touched, it too was lit with purple fire. Ptolomey continued this process with the other braziers arranged around the pedestal.

Ptolomey again noticed the struggle in his mind. With each brazier he'd pushed into place, the "losing" side had pushed the other side farther and farther back. Now they were at a stalemate again, as they had been before the aperture.

What was going on? All he was doing was pushing strange braziers into purple light coming from the floor. Perhaps that _was _a bit strange, but how could it effect what was happening in his mind? Maybe he really was going mad. He pulled back his hood and scratched his head in frustration. He'd have to tell Tolfdir about this when he returned to the College.

Finishing his brooding, Ptolomey pushed the final brazier into place. As it caught fire, the whole structure seemed to glow with the purple light. The stone floor dropped beneath him to reveal what looked like a stone sarcophagus.

Ptolomey approached the sarcophagus. There was nothing inscribed on the stone; no indication of who'd made it or how long ago. The stone itself was unremarkable. Still, anything this hard to access had to be important.

What could the object be? There was only one way to find out. Ptolomey took a deep breath and touched the sarcophagus. It trembled slightly before part of it began sliding into the floor. Ptolomey took a small step back. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open at what he saw.

_"A woman?"_ He was utterly perplexed. A woman stood in the sarcophagus, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed. Her clothing was a style that Ptolomey had never seen before. She was also rather pale.

She started to fall forward. By instinct, Ptolomey stepped forward and caught her. She leaned heavily against him for a moment, her face turned to the side and pressed against his shoulder. She exhaled heavily and put her arms on his to help her stand straight. She turned her head and looked at him.

Ptolomey stared. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Everything about her face was just perfect; from her high cheekbones to her full lips to her black hair that framed her face and fell to her shoulders.

But what captivated him most was her eyes. They were a golden yellow, like the diamonds on his rings and amulet. They were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. He just stared into them while she stared into his.

He could tell she was a vampire but somehow this didn't alarm him. She was different than other vampires. He could tell. All vampires had yellow eyes but not like these. Her eyes weren't just glowing. They were shining, more alive. He couldn't take his eyes off them.

She blinked and stepped away from him. He suddenly realized something. He'd seen her before, outside of Dawnstar. _She_ was the face he'd seen in the aperture. Who was she? Had she sent the aperture?

He noticed something else as the woman looked him up and down. It was gone. The struggle in his mind. It was just ... gone; vanished without a trace. If he'd been utterly perplexed before, now he was completely stupefied. What in the name of Aetherius was going on?

Ptolomey gave a small start as the woman cleared her throat. She had a slightly amused look on her face. He realized he had been staring at her breasts, which were very nice as well. His felt his face heat slightly. He had _not _been ogling her. He had more class than that.

"Well," she said in a melodious voice that instantly mesmerized him, "glad to see men haven't changed."

Her face became more amused as he looked away in embarrassment. He had _not_ been ogling her! He hadn't ogled a woman since ... okay, he ogled women a lot. But he still had class.

He looked back at her to see her watching him closely. When he met her eyes she inhaled more deeply and her lips parted slightly. She blinked and shook her head slightly as if to clear it.

Her voice became more serious. "Who sent you?" she asked.

"I'm here on behalf of a man named Isran," he replied.

The woman's brow furrowed slightly. "I ... don't know who that is," she said in a cautious voice. "Is he ... like me?"

For a moment, Ptolomey wondered what she meant. Then he realized. "A vampire? No, he isn't. In fact, he and the Dawnguard would want you killed."

"Not fond of vampires, are they?" She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Are you not one of them?"

Ptolomey shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'm only here at his request." He realized neither of them had been introduced. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said in a less serious tone. "I am Ptolomey, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold." He bowed in a manner appropriate for meeting a noblewoman. He would have kissed her hand but he didn't think that would've been proper.

A small smile lit up her face. He trembled slightly at the beautiful sight. He really needed to get control of himself. At this rate, he would swoon if she so much as took off her cloak. He made a mental note to avoid watching her remove any clothing.

"Well, that would explain your fancy attire," she said lightly. "My name is Serana. Good to meet you," she said with a bow of her head.

He returned her smile with one of his own. He vaguely noticed her take a deep breath. He played her name over in his mind.

_"Serana. The most beautiful sound I've ever seen. I mean heard." _

Gods, what was his problem? He'd seen beautiful women before. This wasn't his first bear hunt, as the saying went. He needed to compose himself. He just needed to think objectively.

He noticed something sticking over her right shoulder. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before. He looked more closely. The smile slid off his face when it dawned on him. This was what they were after. This could be bad; very bad indeed.

Serana had an Elder Scroll.

**Now they've met. I hope I did an okay job. I'm thinking about doing the next chapter from Serana's perspective.**

**That "beautiful sound i've ever seen" line? I stole that from SpongeBob. Yeah I watch SpongeBob. It's the best cartoon ever. **

**I don't know for sure when I'll get a new chapter done. School's going to be hectic soon. I think it'll be this weekend. It might be sooner.**

**Ciao.**


	9. Those Eyes

**This chapter shows Ptolomey and Serana's first encounter from Serana's perspective. First impressions are very important. Which is probably why everyone hates me. But I digress. Enjoy!**

Serana was beginning to stir in the tight confines of the sarcophagus. The small amount of blood that had brought her out of her trance-like rest slid down her throat. Its warmth began to spread through her body, bringing her "back to life," so to speak. In a short time she'd be able to fully function again.

She felt the sarcophagus tremble slightly. She tried to open her eyes but they wouldn't obey. The blood needed to spread a little bit more. Her breathing became deeper and her thoughts became more coherent.

_"At last. I'll be free of this tomb."_

She felt something shift in front of her and could see light through her eyelids. She fell forward with her arms still crossed over her bosom. She braced for an impact with the floor that never came.

She felt arms wrap around her. Her face came into contact with something ... soft. She felt clothing and she could smell something. She breathed in the scent, trying to place it in her mind but failing. She didn't know this person. She exhaled heavily as she placed her arms on the stranger's to lift herself to her feet. She turned to face the person who'd freed her.

Serana stared. He was ... breathtaking. He wasn't the "pretty boy" breathtaking like elves were. He was a manly breathtaking. All his features were strong and rugged. He had a short, full black beard and his black hair was pulled regally back. She could feel his muscles bulging slightly as he supported her. No doubt the rest of him was just as muscular.

But what she noticed most were his eyes. They were a deep shimmering green, like the leaves of the forest in the middle of summer. The color shifted ever so slightly as light reflected off of them at different angles. They were stunning. She stared into them as he stared into hers.

Then she remembered why she'd been sealed away and who could've sent this man. She couldn't afford to be smitten with the wrong man. She blinked and stepped away from him. He had a thoughtful look on his face. She looked him over.

He wasn't an elf, obviously. Nor was he a Nord as she was. He could be one of the Manmeri, the blending of man and elf bloodlines. He seemed to be a mage, if his clothing was anything to go by. The Manmeri possessed some of their elven ancestors' magical abilities, so it seemed he likely was.

Serana noticed he was staring at her breasts. Typical man. She cleared her throat to get his attention. He gave a small start and looked up at her face. She smirked slightly as the faintest hint of a blush appeared on his face.

"Well," she said in amusement, "glad to see men haven't changed." Her smirk deepened as he looked away in embarrassment. It seemed he had some sense of decency. She found it ... cute.

She continued to study him. He didn't seem like the type her father would send to retrieve her. The only people he surrounded himself with were sycophants and boot-lickers. This man didn't seem to be like them. Perhaps her mother had sent him.

He met her eyes. Again, she was struck by how stunning they were. They were a beautiful, endless forest that you could wander through forever. She gazed into the shifting greens of his eyes, losing herself in them.

Serana gathered her willpower and forced herself to stop. She blinked and shook her head slightly. She needed to find out who'd sent him. She took her focus off his eyes and put it on his face as a whole. This didn't really fare much better. Damn, he was distracting.

She made her voice more serious. "Who sent you?" she inquired.

"I'm here on behalf of a man named Isran," he said in an articulate, masculine voice. She wanted him to say more but he didn't. The way he spoke was poetry.

"_Focus_," she told herself sternly. Isran? She'd never heard the name. She needed to know who he was.

"I ... don't know who that is," she said. She didn't know exactly how to phrase her next question. It could be awkward. "Is he ... like me?"

The man frowned for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. "A vampire?" he asked. "No, he isn't. In fact, he and the Dawnguard would want you killed."

So, he knew what she was. She had never heard of any Dawnguard, but seeing as the word "dawn" was in their name they probably didn't like vampires. It seemed there were _two _things that hadn't changed while she'd been away.

"Not fond of vampires, are they?" she asked rhetorically. Another thought crossed her mind. She looked at him curiously. "Are you not one of them?"

The man shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'm only here at his request." This made her feel a little better. It appeared he wouldn't kill her on the spot. Of course, if he'd wanted to, he could have killed her several times over.

His expression changed. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said in a less severe tone. "I am Ptolomey, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold," he said with an elegant bow.

Serana smiled at her rescuer, her fangs completely retracted. Ptolomey; she'd never heard a name like it before. It was strange. In an exotic way, not a bad way.

His bow was expertly done. It seemed he was of noble birth, or at least had been schooled in a court. How long had she been gone? At least several centuries, it would seem. The Manmeri had been the lowest level of society when she'd been sealed away. Customs took a long time to change.

Further supporting this was his title: Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Only someone in charge would have a title like that. The College had been around for a while before she'd ... you know. For the great mage Shalidor to no longer be in charge, it must have been at least several centuries.

"Well, that would explain your fancy attire," she responded lightly. The robe looked good on him. She wondered how much better it would look on the floor.

"_Focus_," she told herself again. This may have been the first person she'd seen in centuries but that didn't mean she had to fantasize about him.

She realized she needed to introduce herself. "My name is Serana. Good to meet you." His face split into a gorgeous smile. Serana managed to keep herself from swaying. Was he _trying _to drive her crazy?

Ptolomey's gaze went to something behind her. His smile slowly vanished and was replaced with apprehension. His eyes flicked between her and whatever he was looking at, like he was trying to see the connection.

"_The Elder Scroll,"_ she realized. He'd noticed it at last.

He focused on her. "Do you know what that is?" he asked. His tone wasn't rhetorical. He was actually asking her if she knew what it was.

"Do _you _know what it is?" she responded.

"It's a Kel," he replied.

Serana frowned at the word. "It's an Elder Scroll," she said. It seemed he didn't know what it was.

"That's what I said," he replied.

"You called it a 'Kel'", she retorted.

"That's what the Elder Scrolls are called in the language of the dragons," Ptolomey said.

She was skeptical. "How do you know that?" she asked. The dragons had been overthrown by their "subjects" and wiped out. Unless he'd studied the Dragon Priests or something, he shouldn't know what they'd called the Elder Scrolls.

"That's ... a long story," he answered cryptically. "Why do you have that Kel?" he changed the subject.

"That's ... a long story," she answered cryptically. He grinned and gave an amused snort. Serana smirked as well. She liked this man. He had her sense of humor. Hopefully he'd stick around for a while.

Ptolomey became serious once more. "How long have you been in there?" he asked gesturing toward the sarcophagus.

She glanced toward her prison. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "It seems way longer than we'd planned on." Ptolomey's eyes narrowed slightly at "we".

"I can't tell you," she answered the unasked question. "Not yet." His eyebrow quirked. Damn, she needed to be more careful. She wanted to trust him but didn't know if she should.

"Who is Skyrim's High King?" she asked quickly.

"Elisif the Fair is the High Queen," he responded.

"Is she the daughter of the last High King, or the High King's widow?" she asked. The idea of a High Queen was strange. She was surprised the Nords had allowed it. They weren't sexist or anything. But a Skyrim without a king didn't feel right.

"Well, she _is _Torygg's widow, but she was elected by the Moot," he replied in a confused tone that implied she should know this.

"Moot? What's the Moot?" she asked.

He gave her a slightly bewildered look. "It's when the Jarls get together and choose the next ruler of Skyrim if the previous ruler doesn't have any direct heirs," he replied in a tone to match his expression.

Ptolomey's brow furrowed as he looked away. His eyes moved back and forth as though he were trying to remember something. Serana waited for him to speak.

"Everyone knows what the Moot is," he said to himself. "If she's never heard of it ... When was the first Moot convened? That was ..." He suddenly froze. He looked at her as if he'd seen for the first time.

"It seems you've been inside that sarcophagus for at least four thousand years," he said.

Serana blinked. Had it been that long? How had her father not found her? And what of her mother? Had she been found? She needed to get home; figure out what had come to pass during her absence.

Ptolomey was studying her with the same awed expression. What was that all about? She was a vampire after all. Vampires didn't die. They could be killed, but they didn't just die. It was getting a little unnerving.

"Well then, I guess I have some catching up to do," she said nonchalantly. "But first I need to return home; find out where everyone stands. Help me get there, and maybe I'll tell you what you want to know."

Ptolomey nodded vaguely, still staring at her. Serana shifted uncomfortably. Now he was just acting weird. She cleared her throat and snapped her fingers at him. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Still with me?" she asked.

He nodded. "Get you home. Maybe you'll tell me," he summarized.

Serana nodded. "Good. Now, lets figure out how to get out of here."

**I hope I did okay. Ptolomey's eyes were a side effect of his "sense", just as he himself had hypothesized. I'll explain more in coming chapters. Also, Manmeri was what the early Bretons were called. I **_**think **_**all the information I put regarding them is accurate.**

**I looked up how long ago Serana was sealed away. It looks like no one knows exactly, but it was probably early in the First Era. The first Moot in Skyrim was convened in 1E 221. I thought that was a convenient way to guess approximately how old Serana is.**

**I should get the next chapter posted this week. I can't promise what day. **

**Ciao.**


	10. Coincidence?

**Well, I got this done sooner than I expected. Hopefully that doesn't mean it's not done well. After this chapter, the chapters will probably be split between Ptolomey's and Serana's perspectives. Part from one, part from the other.**

**Hope you like the chapter!**

Ptolomey agreed with Serana. They needed to leave. He'd had enough gloom and death for one day. He telekinetically called the Staff into his outstretched hand. Serana looked at it in curiosity but didn't say anything.

"We might as well go out the way I came in," he said. He didn't want to go deeper into the crypt where there would be more gloom and death.

Serana simply nodded, so Ptolomey led the way back toward the entrance. Serana stopped by the corpses of the vampires he'd slain earlier. She looked through their pockets and knapsacks. She removed several vials and hastily drank their contents. After doing so, some color seemed to return to her pale face.

"What are those?" he asked.

"Potions of Blood," she answered. "They are a short-term substitute for real blood."

"Why not drink from the thralls?" he asked, gesturing to some dead non-vampires nearby.

Serana's lips curled in disgust. "Do you drink spoiled milk?" she asked.

"No," he replied.

"There's your answer," she said. She gave the bodies one more disgusted look before climbing the stairs ahead of him. With a confused shake of his head, Ptolomey followed after her. He tried to keep his eyes off of her swaying hips and backside. He failed miserably, of course. How could he look at anything else? Especially when they were right in front of his face?

"Maybe you should lead the way," she said as she stopped at the top of the stairs. He stopped several steps below. She turned her head to look at him and noticed him staring at her backside. He quickly looked away but she'd seen him.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Or are you enjoying the view too much?" she asked.

Ptolomey ascended the remaining steps to stand in front of her. He was tall for a Breton, but he was still only an inch taller than Serana. He tried to keep from blushing and put on an impassive expression.

"You're right. I should lead the way," he said, trying to keep his voice impassive as well. Serana pursed her lips slightly in thought. He took one glance at them and turned quickly toward the door leading back into the rest of the crypt. He needed to get out of this hole. He needed to think.

As they neared the door, he became aware of spells being cast from somewhere ahead. No one was supposed to be there. He'd killed all the vampires on his way in. Someone else must have found the crypt, and they most likely weren't friendly.

He turned back around. He nearly collided with Serana, who was looking down for some reason. Her eyes had an innocent look as she quickly met his gaze. He gave her a questioning look and could have sworn her face colored a little bit.

"_Was she staring at my ... No, don't flatter yourself_," he thought. His clothes were hardly form-fitting. Besides, it was men who ogled women, not vice versa.

"We need to go back. Someone else is here," he said seriously. "We'll find the exit instead. Come on." He hurried past her before she had a chance to reply. He moved as quickly as he could without running, Serana hurrying to catch up.

On the far side of the "structure" was a small doorway. Ptolomey headed toward it. As he drew nearer, he heard something crack nearby. He looked around but didn't see anything. There were only statues of some hideous winged creatures.

One of those statues came to life and leapt at Ptolomey with a loud screech. Ptolomey ducked under the creature. It spread its wings and began flying around the cave.

"Gargoyles!" Serana yelled. "There's another one!" The other statue came to life and rushed at her. She drew her dagger and shot an Ice Spike at it. The creature hardly flinched as the spike drove into its belly.

She sent another spike flying. This one hit the gargoyle in the eye, earning a pained yowl. The gargoyle stopped to clutch at its head. Ptolomey charged a powerful Ice Spear to finish it off.

Before he released the spell, he saw the first gargoyle swooping in to attack Serana from behind. He hurled the spell at it instead. The large shard of ice hit the creature square in the face. Its wings went limp and it hit the ground with a spray of pebbles. Ptolomey sent two Ice Spikes into the creature's body but it didn't stir.

Meanwhile, Serana had killed the second gargoyle and already resurrected it. The creature glowed with necromantic energy. It growled at its brother's corpse but settled down when it didn't respond.

"It looks like you can handle yourself," Serana remarked. She sheathed her Elven dagger before resurrecting the other gargoyle. It stood beside its brother, looking very odd with an Ice Spear in its face.. She joined him as he made his way toward the doorway.

"You too," he replied. Serana's gargoyles lumbered along behind them, despite the fact one of them had no face. "Are there going to be more of those things?"

"Probably," she responded.

"Wonderful," he grumbled.

The rooms and tunnels beyond the doorway did have more gargoyles, as well as skeletons and draugr. The skeletons were no match for them but the draugr proved to be troublesome. They were powerful. One was a deathlord, perhaps the most powerful draugr there was. Fighting together made the encounters significantly less difficult, but Ptolomey was sure either of them could have handled them alone.

Serana proved to be a skilled combatant. She knew how to wield her dagger and was fairly skilled with her Frost spells. Her Conjuration skills were very good. Her resurrected "minions" lasted for a long time before their bodies turned to ash. She was actually better at it than he was. Maybe she'd teach him a few things.

Ptolomey stood near the cave leading back to the surface. Serana was searching through some urns nearby. He could no longer sense any spells being cast behind them. He didn't know what that meant but it was best not to stick around to find out.

They needed to get away from this place quickly. No doubt whoever was back there would follow them. Ptolomey summoned two Storm Thralls from Oblivion. The strange beings materialized before him with a _whoosh_. Their stone-like bodies floated above the ground as lightning and smaller chunks of stone swirled around them. They turned their "faces" toward him.

"You attack anything that comes through that door," he pointed toward the door he and Serana had just come through. "Hold them off as long as possible." The thralls hovered toward the door and positioned themselves on opposite sides of the corridor.

"How'd you do that?" Serana asked. She was studying the thralls with an astonished look on her face. "Atronachs don't obey orders like that."

"I'll tell you later. Right now, we need to get far away from here. Quickly," he said. Serana put something into a pocket and walked with him to the surface.

The light coming through the mouth of the cave was pale. It was night already; good news for Serana. Ptolomey exited the cave and marveled at the view for a moment. The sky was clear and the Northern Lights were dancing in multi-colored ribbons. There wasn't a breath of wind. The moonlight reflected enchantingly off of the fresh snow. It was one of those nights that only seemed to exist in fairy tales.

Serana gave a happy sigh. "It feels good to be out of that cave," she remarked. Ptolomey looked at the woman he'd "discovered." She was looking into the sky with a peaceful smile on her lips. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her breath misted in the cold air as another happy sigh escaped from her. She looked absolutely beautiful.

Ptolomey looked away from her. He shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't be this struck by her. She was over four thousand years old! She could be the oldest being on Nirn! She may have spent those years in a tomb but still! Four thousand years old. He felt inadequate and inferior compared to her. Gods, what had he gotten himself into?

_"Well, you've started this. Now you have to finish it."_ He looked back at Serana, who was studying him thoughtfully. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. He raised his hood instead.

"We need to move," he said.

"Right," she said softly.

Ptolomey led the way down the uneven slope. The footing would have been difficult even without the foot of snow on the ground. He felt the way with the Staff, feeling a little embarrassed for using such a powerful object in such a menial way. It worked though, and that was all that mattered. Serana followed in his exact footsteps. Neither of them spoke.

They reached the plain below the mountain and followed a path north, toward Dawnstar. A cold wind began to blow off of the Sea of Ghosts. Ptolomey was once again glad his robes kept him at a constant temperature. His boots made his extremities resistant to the worst of the cold but not all. Serana seemed completely unaffected by it.

"It's several hours journey to Dawnstar," he said after several minutes of traveling on the road.

Serana sighed. "I'd rather not. But I guess we'll need to get supplies and such. Let's do it quickly though. I need to get back to my family's home as soon as possible. I need to find out what has happened."

After a minute, Ptolomey asked, "Where is your family's home? I can hardly get you there if I don't know where it is."

"Well, if you _must_ know_,_" she said in a falsely annoyed tone, "it's on an island near the border with High Rock."

Ptolomey stopped dead in his tracks. Castle Volkihar. Her family lived in Castle Volkihar. That was one of the locations marked on the map in Mzulft's occulory. Now it was where Serana needed to go. What were the chances?

Ptolomey went over everything that had happened. He'd seen the aperture by Dawnstar. He'd gone to Mzulft to look at the occulory's map. Then he'd gone to Fort Dawnguard to study the magical object there. He'd been sent to Dimhollow Crypt to investigate vampire activity. Then he'd freed Serana, who possessed a Kel, or Elder Scroll. Now she needed to get home to Castle Volkihar, the location of another powerful magical object and the home of the most powerful vampires in Skyrim. He didn't believe in chance; at least not anymore.

"Are you alright?" Serana's voice interrupted his thoughts. He blinked and looked up to see her a few paces in front of him, watching him with concern. She took a couple steps towards him.

"You alright?" she asked again.

"Yeah," he replied not very convincingly. "I'm fine." He gave her a reassuring grin. He didn't think it was very convincing either.

Serana gave him a small grin in return. Her eyes were still worried but she seemed to accept his word. "Okay," she said gently. "Come on then." She walked beside him as they continued down the road in silence.

She was genuinely concerned about him. You couldn't fake that look. As if all the events leading to this point weren't enough, he had three other things to pile on. He had lost his "sense" when he'd freed her from the sarcophagus. He'd basically fallen for her the moment he saw her. And now she was showing genuine feelings towards him. She couldn't feel the same way about him. Could she?

What if she did? Ptolomey didn't know what to think about that. She was a vampire; a member of the race of immortal blood-sucking creatures he and most other people felt the world would be better off without. Not to mention that she was ancient but looked like she was in her twenties.

Yet part of him wanted her to. Okay, a lot of him did, but he didn't really think she did. He glanced over to see her looking at him again. He tried another reassuring grin. She returned this one as well. Her eyes still carried concern. Ptolomey looked away, feeling overwhelmed by everything that was happening.

"_Gods, what _have _I gotten myself into_?"

**I hope I'm not confusing anyone with Ptolomey's contradicting feelings. Sorry. I had to say that. I don't presume to think you don't understand how people think, just that I don't convey it well. **

**Anyway, hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. I don't think there will be much fighting or anything like that for a bit. It'll be dialogue mostly. Probably. I'm rambling.**

**On a side note, any time Ptolomey uses telekinesis on the Staff, I'm going to say he "called the Staff to himself" or something like that.**

**Ciao.**


	11. What's His Name?

**Well, I got nothing I need to say. Enjoy!**

**To Penstriker: Well ... I **_**suppose**_** I could be pursuaded to give you moar if only I knew what "moar" was. Just ignore me.**

Serana waited beyond a curve in the road for Ptolomey to return. He'd gone to trade with the Khajiit caravan that had made camp near Dawnstar. She didn't mind. She knew she'd attract unwanted attention and possibly get them into trouble. He'd return before too long.

She thought about him as she leaned against a boulder lying next to the road. He'd been acting strangely since learning how old she was; and even stranger since learning where her home was. He barely responded to her and never spoke first. He would gaze intently at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking. His eyes showed awe, fear, and another emotion she couldn't identify when he did.

She hadn't asked him about it but she knew one thing. She was sure he knew or had heard of Castle Volkihar before. She found this a bit odd, since vampires tried to keep their lairs secret. Of course, he was the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. Mages always knew things people weren't supposed to know. What did he know that caused him to behave so oddly?

She hoped he got over whatever it was soon. She wanted to learn from him. And if he was a true mage, he'd want to learn what he could from her. _If _he came out of his stupor. She'd have to open up to him a little. Hopefully he'd return the favor.

She stamped her feet in the snow. The cold affected even vampires, eventually. She was also starting to feel a little weak. Hopefully she could make it to Castle Volkihar without needing to feed. If she couldn't ... well, she'd deal with it then.

She looked back toward the city and saw Ptolomey not far away. His knapsack was bulging with supplies and he carried another full knapsack in his left hand. His right hand grasped that curious staff. That was something she really wanted to ask him about.

She walked forward to meet him. "Did you get everything you wanted?" she asked.

"No," he responded. "I didn't get us a means of getting to Castle Volkihar this instant. But besides that, yes."

Serana gave a soft snort of laughter. It seemed he answered questions quite literally. She gestured to the second knapsack. "Is that mine?" she asked.

He hefted the bag. "Yes. If you want it, of course," he added.

She gave him a quizzical look. Why wouldn't she want it? He made an embarrassed face and handed the knapsack to her. She put her arms through the straps and settled it so that it didn't press the Elder Scroll into her back. The straps pulled on her bodice which pressed on her breasts. She adjusted it to be more comfortable.

She looked up at Ptolomey. The man began studying his staff with extreme interest. This again? She cleared her throat. He looked at her with an innocent expression. She quirked an eyebrow, an expression she seemed to use with him often.

"What?" he asked.

"Is this going to be a common occurence?" she asked in a slightly vexed tone.

He pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. "Most likely," he answered.

Serana shook her head in amused irritation. It seemed he was out of his earlier stupor. At least he was ogling her when she wasn't looking, or when he thought she wasn't. She really didn't mind much, but she had to show some displeasure. It was the principle of the thing.

She changed the subject. "So how do you plan on getting me home?"

"Boat," be replied simply. "Ship, actually. A ship is going to meet us a few miles west of here and take us there. Hopefully."

"Hopefully?" Serana questioned.

"Sailors never go near that island. They believe it's cursed. The captain will probably drop us off on the mainland near the island," he explained.

"Have you not told him where he's taking us?" she asked.

Ptolomey shook his head. "Not yet. It was hard enough getting him to meet us outside the port. Sailors shy away from the unusual. Unless there's gold involved. I wonder how much he's going to charge me," he finished to himself.

"You have gold, right?" she inquired. Her own coin pouch was very light.

"I have some," he answered. "I usually don't need any." Serana gave him a questioning look. "Mages don't trade in gold. We trade in knowledge. Well, most of us do."

Ptolomey looked thoughtful for a moment before adjusted his knapsack. "The ship's probably at the rendezvous. We should get going," he said.

Serana adjusted her own knapsack. "Lead the way," she replied. Ptolomey glanced at her breasts before heading west, off of the road. She gave a small sigh before following. He was honest, at least.

It was very near dawn when they reached the small cove where the ship was supposed to meet them. There was no beach at all. The land simply stopped and the water began. The ship was anchored only several feet from the rocks. There must have been a considerable drop-off for it to come that close.

The ship barely qualified for the title. It seemed more like an oversized boat. But, it had a deck and a cabin built on top of the deck. A square sail hung limply from the yardarm of the ship's single mast. There was a light shining under the door to the cabin.

The pair of them stood perhaps twenty yards from the water's edge. Serana began to walk forward but Ptolomey held up a hand. "It's impolite to board a ship without the captain's permission," he told her. "Not to mention dangerous. We need to let him know we're here first." He took several steps forward.

"Captain Asshole!" Ptolomey called out.

Serana's jaw dropped. Was he mad? Was he _trying _to lose their transport? She shut her mouth before he could notice her shock and moved up beside him.

"Why did you do that?" she asked him with some urgency.

He looked at her. "I told you. We need to let him know we're here."

"Yes, but did you have to call him that?" she asked. She glanced at the ship but there was still no sign of the captain or anyone else. Hopefully they hadn't heard him.

Ptolomey frowned. "He's a captain. He deserves to be called by his title."

Serana made a frustrated face. "You called him an asshole!" she said as plainly as she could.

His frown deepened for a moment. Then he did something completely unexpected. He laughed. He laughed; as if she'd made a joke. She stared at him in bewilderment. This made him laugh even harder.

Eventually he calmed down enough to speak. "No, Serana," he said between laughs. "That's his name."

Serana blinked. "What?"

Ptolomey stifled his chuckling and looked her in the face again. "His name is Nasshoall. Captain Nasshoall."

Serana's face and shoulders relaxed as she sighed in relief. They weren't going to lose their ride after all. Ptolomey seemed to find her reaction amusing because he started laughing softly.

Her relief turned into embarrassed indignation. How was she supposed to know that was his name? He was enjoying this way too much. Unfortunately for her, his laugh was infectious. And, honestly, the whole situation was rather funny. She struggled to keep a straight face in order to show her displeasure.

He gave a sigh as he finished laughing at her expense. "Oh. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. Thank you," he said.

Serana tried to make her tone cold and aloof. "You're welcome," she said.

Her superior vision could see every detail of his face. She saw the corners of his lips trying not to curl into a smile. She saw the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. She couldn't resist any longer.

She burst out laughing. She laughed as she hadn't laughed in a long time. It was hard to believe how good it felt. She felt as though she were releasing pent-up emotions she didn't know were there, and a small weight seemed to fall off her shoulders. Ptolomey's shoulders shook as he silently laughed with her.

After a minute, Serana brought her laughter down. She gave a happy sigh. "Oh. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. Thank you," she said. It struck her that was exactly what he had said.

"You're welcome," he said softly.

She looked him in the eyes. He was looking into hers the way he had when he'd first seen her. He was also standing rather close to her; within arm's reach, in fact.

She looked into his eyes. Not just in his eyes, _into_ his eyes. It was nighttime in those endless forests. The greens shifted very little in the low light. She could see her own eyes reflecting faintly in his. Once again, she was entranced. She didn't know how long they stood that way.

Ptolomey cleared his throat softly, bringing her out of her "trance". He glanced toward the ship. "I guess no one heard," he said. "We should get going. Okay?"

"Okay," she answered, feeling a little sad. Only a little, mind you. She liked the man but not in that way. She wasn't falling for him. Just because he was handsome, had beautiful eyes, and could make her laugh didn't mean she would fall in love with him. Right?

She followed Ptolomey, who'd gotten Nasshoal's attention. She kept her eyes down so no one would see that they glowed. The three crewmen started getting the ship ready to make way. She couldn't tell that anything was actually being done.

"Alright, mage. Why have you brought us out here?" Captain Nasshoal demanded in a gruff voice one often associated with sailors. He noticed Serana. "Who is she? Is she a Stormcloak? You know harboring a Stormcloak will get you a hanging."

"She is not a Stormcloak," Ptolomey answered firmly. "You don't need to know anything about her, or me. Just take us to the island near the border with High Rock."

The captain laughed. "Are you mad? No one goes near that place. It's cursed. You of all people should know that."

"What I _know_ is that we need to get there, and we need to get there now," Ptolomey retorted. "How much do you want for it?"

Nasshoall raised his hands before him. "Woah, woah. I didn't say I was taking you nowhere."

"How much?" Ptolomey repeated in a commanding voice.

The captain regarded him for several seconds. "Two thousand gold," he replied.

"Fifteen hundred," Ptolomey countered.

"This ain't a negotiation," Nasshoall retorted. "You know what, I've changed me mind. Thirty-five hundred. You want to get to that gods-forsaken island, you pay thirty-five hundred, or you find another ship."

Ptolomey's jaw clenched in anger. Serana needed to step in before he did something stupid. Then she remembered what she was carrying. She pulled it out and tapped Ptolomey on the shoulder.

He turned but she put the object in his hand before he could speak. He opened his palm and looked at what she'd given him. His eyes widened slightly and he looked up at her.

Careful to keep her eyes down, Serana just nodded to him. He flashed her an appreciative grin before putting his angry scowl back on. He turned back to the captain.

"How about this?" he asked as he tossed the object to the man. It glinted faintly in the torchlight as it spun through the air. Nasshoall caught it and held it between his thumb and forefinger to examine it.

His eyes widened as he took in the flawless orange diamond he held. Serana had found it in Dimhollow. She was glad she had. The diamond had been worth a lot back in her time. Hopefully it was worth just as much now.

Nasshoall licked his lips in a greedy manner. He returned his gave to Ptolomey. "Fine. I guess this'll have to do. You go below deck and stay outta the way."

Ptolomey bowed his head graciously. "Thank you, Captain Nasshoall." He crossed the short gangplank and stepped onto the deck. He then turned and offered his hand to Serana.

Surprised and touched by the gesture, she took his hand, actually touching him for the first time. His hand was incredibly warm; not surprising since she was a vampire. It was also surprisingly tough and calloused, not as soft as she'd expected from a mage. He looked into her eyes with a small grin as she stepped onto the deck. She would have blushed but thankfully she didn't have enough blood in her body anymore. It was one of the many benefits of being a vampire.

Nasshoal grabbed the gangplank and strode heavily past them. "Now go below deck and stay outta the way," he repeated gruffly.

Ptolomey's eyes flashed with anger but his face remained even. "Of course, Captain Nasshoall." He led the way over to the stairs that led below deck.

Serana leaned closer to him so she couldn't be overheard. "You called him Captain Asshole, didn't you?" she asked with a small smile.

He kept his face forward. "Yes, I did," he responded. He looked over at her and they both started chuckling at the same time. By the blood, it felt good to laugh.

They continued below deck, leaving confused crewmen wondering what in Oblivion was funny.

**Some bonding between Serana and Ptolomey in this chapter. I hope I did okay. If you haven't been able to tell, the Empire won the Civil War. The Dragon Crisis is also over. I'll be getting to that soon. **

**I'll also be explaining some things about vampires and how their physiology works. You may not agree with me and that's fine. I'm going to get on it now.**

**Ciao.**


	12. A Lesson in Vampires

**There is a lot of talking in this chapter. Serana's going to tell Ptolomey some about vampires. Hope you enjoy!**

Ptolomey took a swig of water from his waterskin. He swished the leathery-tasting liquid around before swallowing. He had almost talked himself hoarse. That was saying something, considering he gave lectures at the College on a regular basis.

He'd been giving Serana a very basic history lesson. With over four thousand years of history to cover, it had taken the better part of three hours. During that time she had hardly said a word. It was undoubtedly a lot to take in.

She sat on a crate facing him, a distant look on her face. The lantern providing their light swayed on its chain. Serana seemed completely untroubled by the motion of the ship. Ptolomey was struggling not to sick up. He probably shouldn't have taken that drink.

Sure enough, he felt his stomach disagreeing with that decision. He grabbed a bucket and dumped what little there was in his stomach into it. He wiped his mouth on his glove. His gloves were ruined now. As much as he didn't want to, he'd have to get rid of them.

He looked back at Serana to see a small smirk on her face. At that moment the ship hit a large wave and bucked like a horse. He reached for the bucket as his insides threatened to expel themselves again. Luckily, they didn't. Now Serana was chuckling.

"Does my suffering amuse you, Serana?" he asked with mock severity.

"Yes it does, actually," she answered in a tone that matched his.

"Oh. Good," he said dryly as he nodded. "Well, I'm glad one of us is enjoying this," he complained with a glance around the hold. There was a small amount of water coming in through leaks and the place smelled putrid. It didn't help his queasiness at all.

"What? You didn't enjoy lecturing for the past several hours?" she asked teasingly.

"Maybe a little," he conceded after a moment. Serana made a "see" gesture and smirked at him again. He rolled his eyes and tried to get more comfortable on his crate. It was an exercise in futility.

The pair sat in silence for a while. Serana once again had a distant look on her face. Ptolomey decided to wait for her to speak. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to wake up and find that everything had changed. Of course, he didn't know if she'd actually been asleep, in a trance, or awake the whole time. He'd have to ask.

He looked up when he heard Serana give a small sigh. She shifted on her crate and made a dissatisfied face when it didn't help. Ptolomey rubbed at his nose to hide his grin. She made the cutest faces and she didn't even know it.

She met his gaze. "Thank you for bringing me up to date," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied. He gave a soft snort of laughter. "In order to really bring you up to date, I'd be talking for the next week. At least."

Serana nodded. "I suppose. A lot can happen in four thousand years," she said.

They were both silent for a moment. Ptolomey leaned forward on his splintery seat. "I hope you don't mind if I ask you some questions," he said seriously.

A small smile lit Serana's face. "I was wondering when you would interrogate me," she joked.

Ptolomey blinked as the memories threatened to resurface. His breathing became faster. He fought to calm himself; to push the memories down again. He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds around him: sloshing water, creaking planks, thudding footsteps. He pushed all else from his mind except the sounds.

He felt his heart slow down and his breathing even out. He drew a deep breath and let it out before opening his eyes. To say Serana looked concerned would be an understatement.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He could tell she was already blaming herself for whatever had happened.

"Yes," he replied. "I'm fine."

She didn't seem convinced. "Was it something I-"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it," he interrupted gently. Serana still didn't look convinced but she didn't say anything more. "So it's fine with you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes."

He gave her an appreciative nod. "Thank you." His fingers drummed against his thigh as he sifted through possible questions. "What to ask. What to ask," he murmered to himself.

He made up his mind. "Okay. How much blood does a vampire actually need?"

"Looks like the scholar is asking the questions," Serana remarked. "It depends on what we're doing. If we're not doing much, like just sitting and talking," she gestured around, "we need very little. If we're fighting or running, we need a lot more."

"To do it for a long time, anyway. We use blood faster when doing something strenuous. Let's see." She paused as she thought. "We can consume all the blood from a mortal who is around the same size as we are."

"Suppose a young child is a vampire," she continued. She placed her hands a short distance apart. "If she fed from someone twice her size," she moved her hands farther apart, "and she had no blood to begin with, she could consume half their blood." She moved her hands back to the original distance.

"Losing half your blood would kill you," Ptolomey said. "Not you," he gestured to Serana. "It wouldn't kill you. I meant you as in ..." he trailed of when Serana smirked at him again. He cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"How fast _do _you use blood?" he asked.

"It depends on what we're doing," she repeated.

"Say you're running as fast as you can and you're "half full". How long could you run before you couldn't run anymore?" He clenched as another big wave rocked the ship.

Serana barked a laugh. "Making me think." She did just that for a moment. "We don't grow weary like mortals do. I would say ... an hour, perhaps."

Ptolomey gave a low whistle. "You'd make great couriers," he remarked. Serana quirked an eyebrow at him. "Well, you would! A vampire could get from Whiterun to Dawnstar in a couple hours."

Serana grinned and shook her head. "You have another question?" she inquired.

His insides lurched as they hit another big wave, but he didn't feel the urge to vomit. "What happens if you run out of blood?" he asked.

"As we run out, we grow weaker. If we run out, we enter some kind of trance. We "die", in a sense. The only way to come out of it is to be fed blood," she answered.

"Is that what happened to you?" Ptolomey asked. He flexed his hand, remembering the spike that had impaled it.

"No, not quite," she said. "That was a trance we can go into to conserve blood. We will wake if properly stimulated, like if we're shaken hard enough or injured. Your blood woke me when I drank it."

"I thought you were in a trance," he countered.

"I was. I don't know how that happened. Somehow the magic of that ... prison," she said with a great deal of scorn, "must have put your blood in my mouth. I guess that's what actually woke me."

Ptolomey nodded. "How did it taste? I've been trying to eat less and exercise more," he said. At the mention of eating, his stomach tried to rebel once again. He managed to stifle it.

Serana chuckled. "That actually does make a difference," she said lightly. Her tone grew more serious. "Truthfully, I don't know. I wasn't awake enough."

"Just wondering," he responded with a dismissive shrug. He thought of another question. "Do your hearts beat? Detect Life spells don't detect vampires."

"Barely," she replied. "And not as often as mortals. My guess is that is why vampires are considered undead. That, and the fact that we don't die."

"You don't seem to generate much body heat, either," he observed. Her hand had felt chilled when he'd helped her onto the ship. Not cold, just chilled.

She looked down. "Yeah," she said in a disheartened voice. "Cold as death."

"Hardly," he reproached gently.

She looked up and met his eyes. There seemed to be a lot of turmoil behind those glowing eyes of hers. Ptolomey leaned forward and put his hand on hers. He saw her tense up but she didn't pull away. Her skin was cool; like fresh well water.

"You're not cold, let alone cold as death," he told her. Her eyes searched his face. She seemed to be breathing heavier. She met his eyes again and he just looked. Gods, those eyes.

"Get up here mage!" Captain Asshole's voice bellowed out.

Ptolomey closed his eyes and sighed in irritation. That cursed captain certainly deserved his nickname. Or name, whichever it was. He opened his eyes and realized just how close he was to Serana. He took his hand off hers and cleared his throat in embarrassment. She looked away and brushed back hair that didn't need it.

"Stay here for a second," he told her. "I'll see what the asshole wants." Serana just nodded. She had that distant look on her face yet again. What was that about?

He climbed the stairs back onto the deck. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds. A storm was brewing. He was glad he didn't have to be on board during one. He'd have been absolutely miserable.

"You get off here," the captain grunted.

Ptolomey looked at the shore. A small jetty stuck out into the sea. A small rowboat was tied to it. He looked farther out to sea. The silhouette of the island was barely visible through the fog. This was actually closer than he'd expected to get.

"Good. Thank you, Captain Asshole," he said dismissively. He really disliked the man and didn't care whether he knew he was being insulted or not.

He went down to Serana. "We've arrived," he told her.

"Good," she said. "I'm sick of this fucking boat."

Ptolomey raised an eyebrow at her language. This was a different side of her. "Ship, Serana. It's a ship," he corrected.

"Whatever," she retorted. "I'm sick of it."

They emerged from the hold and stepped onto the jetty without another word to the captain. The ship immediately disembarked and headed back east. The storm was getting closer. Maybe the captain would fall overboard and drown. It didn't seem likely but hey, one could dream, right?

"Looks like we've exchanged one boat for another," Serana said. Her hood obscured her face as she examined the rickety dinghy.

Ptolomey wasn't happy either. "I suppose I'm going to have to row?" he asked rhetorically.

Serana faced him with a smirk on her face. "Is that a rhetorical question? Of course you do," she said in a mockingly sweet voice.

All he could do was roll his eyes and say, "Oh, joy."

**Hope you liked. I added a little mystery here. What memories didn't he want to remember? The suspense is killing me. **

**Ciao.**


	13. Respectfully Decline

**I hadn't realized I'd posted an incomplete version of Chapter 10. There's some more content that I've added. Sorry. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

Serana stared into space as she rode in the decrepit dinghy. It rose and fell gently in the waves. The storm was still in the distance. Castle Volkihar was slowly moving towards them. Not really but that was how it seemed.

Soon she'd know what had happened and what she needed to do. She had to know, yet she was afraid to. She was almost certain her father would be there, and she wasn't looking forward to seeing him. She just hoped her mother was still hidden somewhere. Anxiety gnawed at her gut.

It was what had caused her outburst on the asshole's boat. It _was _a boat, no matter what Ptolomey said. When he'd come down and told her they'd arrived, all the worry she'd kept under control came bursting out. She swore a lot when she was anxious. She'd brought it under some semblance of control since then, but was still worried about what lie ahead.

She'd part ways with Ptolomey. Of that she was certain. Undoubtedly her father would try to bring him into his fold. She knew the Arch-Mage wouldn't. He wouldn't submit to someone like her father. She didn't know for sure what would happen when he refused.

She could just tell him to leave her at the door, but she knew that would never happen. He'd see his "mission" through to the end. Even though they hadn't had an argument or even a disagreement, she could tell he was as stubborn as any Nord.

A grunt followed by an unfamiliar profanity came from behind her. She turned to see the Arch-Mage pull a splinter from his hand and heal the wound. His back was to her but she knew he was scowling at the oar that had injured him.

"Stupid fucking thing," he muttered as he grasped the oars and continued rowing.

Serana grinned, her anxiety temporarily forgotten. "You okay back there?" she asked.

"Oh, just wonderful," he replied. "I _love _rowing, especially with splinters in my hands and up my ass. _And _I'm sick as a dog."

"Are you angry about something?" she teased.

He froze, then slowly turned to fix her with a deadpan stare. His tone was flatter than a pond. "Why, Serana, what on Nirn gave you that impression?"

She returned his stare levelly and quirked an eyebrow. She held the stare for a moment before she spoke. "Come on, Ptolomey. This boat isn't going to row itself; and I'm certainly not going to do it."

He slowly turned back around before looking up at the sky and making a helpless gesture. Serana kept herself from giggling and turned around as well. He had these odd little gestures and things he'd say that were so funny. She heard the oars splash into the water and the dinghy began inching closer to the island.

Five minutes later they were standing on the shore of the island. Castle Volkihar loomed over them like a mountain. It looked very oppressive against the dark clouds. The edge of the storm was upon them.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled but no rain was falling yet. The wind had blown away the perpetual mist that surrounded the island. Ptolomey had his hood up against it and was studying the castle with scrutinizing eyes. He then closed his eyes as if listening for something.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You don't feel that?" he asked. He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Feel what?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Magic," he replied as he looked back at the castle. "Like nothing I've ever felt." A particularly loud thunderclap sounded, giving his words unnatural weight.

He turned back to her. Serana felt a twinge of sadness as she met his eyes. He had that look again: the mixture of awe and fear and something she didn't recognize. It was the same look he'd had when he'd learned she was coming here; when he'd barely spoken.

As before, she wondered why. Had he somehow known about this magic then? She studied his face but got no clues from it. What wasn't he telling her?

"What's going on?" she asked.

Ptolomey let out a soft sigh. "I wish I knew," he replied. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, as though debating with himself. Serana watched him carefully.

His eyes opened once more. Now they held determination; or maybe it was stubbornness. The two were very similar. Either way, Serana knew that whatever he'd just decided, there was no way to change his mind.

"Something is happening," he told her. "I don't know what, but it's important. You're home now. You do whatever you need to do. I'm going inside and finding out what I can." She started to object, but closed her mouth when his eyebrows rose.

"No, no," he said. "Go ahead. Tell me I'm not going in there." He waited with this expectant look on his face. "Go ahead," he prompted again.

She gave him a flat stare. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. So she just shook her head at his stubbornness. That's what that look in his eyes had been, not determination. Stubbornness could get someone killed. And of course, being a Nord, she found it extremely endearing. It was a strange dichotomy.

"Aww," he pouted. "For a second I thought you'd do it." His face grew serious. "Come on," he gestured toward the castle. He slipped his staff into a loop on his knapsack.

She walked beside him across the bridge that lead to the main gate. She was trying to prepare herself for the confrontation ahead. She didn't fear for herself. Her father would just blame her mother for everything that had happened. By the blood, she hoped her mother was still hidden. She also hoped Ptolomey would survive.

As she thought about what may happen to him, she grew more certain of his fate. Her father wouldn't kill him. He was a potential pawn, a very powerful one. Her father would let him live as long as he believed there was a chance to use him. But how long would he believe that? That was another matter.

The portcullis rose with a loud creak. That was odd. She hadn't announced herself. At this distance it should have been impossible to tell that she was a vampire. Maybe the watchman had orders to let anyone who approached in. That was very foolish, if it was true. Serana didn't think even her father was that foolish.

Regardless, the way into the castle had been opened. They continued toward the main gate. The watchman didn't give them a second glance. He simply continued surveying the bridge as though an enemy might appear at any moment. They wouldn't receive any trouble from him.

Serana stopped just beyond the portcullis in front of the gates. She realized that now might be her last chance to speak with her rescuer. She hadn't thanked him for staying with her, or helping her to laugh again; or even for rescuing her. She was going to remedy that now.

"Ptolomey," she said.

He stopped walking and turned around. "Yes?" he said in his articulate voice. She hoped this wouldn't be the last time she ever heard it.

"I just wanted to thank you," she said a bit haltingly. "For everything." She couldn't help feeling nervous. After all, she might not see him again.

Ptolomey slowly moved to stand in front of her. He glanced down at her breasts. She felt a surge of indignation. She was getting torn up inside, and he was ogling her?! Again?! She prepared a severe dressing-down but forgot it when she looked him in the eyes.

Damn those eyes! All she had to do was look at them and she lost all sense! They were filled with kindness now. Maybe she could forgive him for his impudence this once. _Just _this once.

He gave her a small smile and bowed, as he had when he'd introduced himself. As he straightened he did something unexpected. Before she could react, he gently grasped her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

Serana's barely beating heart fluttered and beat harder. His lips felt indescribably warm. All she could do was stare at him. He didn't have a self-confident smirk or leer on his face; just the same gentle smile as before.

"'Twas my honor and my pleasure, milady," he said eloquently. He openned the gate and ushered her in. She let herself be led inside.

How was he able to do this to her? It was just her hand. It wasn't like he'd kissed her full on the lips or even on the cheek. But the way he'd spoken. Why hadn't he spoken that way more? She'd have remembered every single detail he'd mentioned of Tamriel's history. She realized how he was able to do this to her.

_"I really am infatuated with him."_

()

Ptolomey was surprised. He hadn't thought Serana would react this way. He thought she would look embarrassed or make some witty remark. Instead, she looked poleaxed. Had he committed some vampire taboo?

_"Don't be stupid,"_ he admonished himself. _"You surprised her."_

He'd surprised himself, to be honest. He hadn't kissed her hand when he'd met her because he thought it was inappropriate. Maybe he shouldn't have done it now either. She was here to do gods-knew-what and he'd just made it harder for her. But, there was nothing he could do about it now.

The main gate lead into a dark antechamber. An Altmer stood against the far wall. His eyes smoldered with unworldly fire. They weren't like Serana's. Serana's were alive; these were dead. His face was contorted and his nose was slightly upturned. In other words, he was ugly as a troll.

"Who are you?" the vampire growled. "How did you get in?" His eyes landed on Serana. "Is it you? Serana?"

His eyes flicked toward Ptolomey for a moment. He had a creepy smile that Ptolomey didn't like at all. It made him think of a cat watching an unsuspecting mouse wander closer. Well, Ptolomey was more dangerous than the average mouse.

The vampire's eyes shifted back to Serana. "It is you!" he declared. He turned and went into the main chamber. "My lord! Serana has returned!"

The Altmer hadn't acted very surprised to see her. The vampires at Dimhollow _had _come from here. He looked over at Serana to see she was over her shock. He looked in her eyes for what he hoped wouldn't be the last time.

"I guess I'm expected," she remarked lightly. She walked slowly through the archway into the main chamber. Ptolomey enjoyed the view as he followed. He hadn't let her lead the way enough. But if he had, she'd have known what he was doing. She probably knew he was doing it now.

_"Focus on the mission, not her backside!" _he scolded himself. She was such a distraction. Maybe that was why most mages were ugly: so they didn't distract each other.

He looked away from the gorgeous view. What met his eyes was anything but gorgeous. The lighting was rather dim, which didn't surprise him. Two long tables lined each side of the hall. A head table lined the far wall. All were covered with fine dishes and splattered with blood.

Vampires sat in chairs around those tables. Males and females of several different races made up the blood-suckers. They were all looking at Serana as she walked down the stairs to the floor of the hall. Ptolomey did his best to remain unnoticed. He turned his attention to the nude bodies lying on the tables.

He kept his hands clasped behind his back. He cast Detect Life and saw that, unfortunately, the mortals were still alive. He watched in disgust and a little horror as a male Nord vampire bit the neck of a Redguard woman and began to feed. The woman didn't so much as whimper.

A regal-looking man in a flowing robe sauntered into the center of the room. "My long-lost daughter returns at last," his pompous voice echoed through the hall. "I trust you have my Elder Scroll."

"After all these years that's the first thing you ask me?" Serana asked with a hint of anger. "Yes, I have the scroll."

"Of course I'm delighted to see you, my daughter," the man declared. He was obviously lying. "Must I really say the words aloud?"

Ptolomey was surprised that Serana was the daughter of the leader of these vampires. She bore no resemblance to this stuck-up, lying, undead sack of meat. However, he couldn't help but feel betrayed. She hadn't told him. Well, he hadn't told her anything either, so it was fair. It didn't make the sense of betrayal go away though.

"Ah, if only your traitor mother were here," the lord vampire continued. "I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike." He seemed to relish the idea. Serana's jaw and hands clenched but she kept silent.

Ptolomey remembered why he was there and tried to get a better sense of the magic he'd felt outside. It was somewhere deeper in the castle. The only thing he could tell about it was that it was dark. He didn't like it. It was almost the exact opposite of what he'd felt in Fort Dawnguard. He'd felt light there. Whatever was going on truly was important.

"Now tell me," the pompous voice of Serana's father interrupted, "who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?"

Serana turned away from His Lordship to face him. "This is my savior," she said in a loud voice. "The one who freed me."

He looked at her, keeping his face blank. He was surprised she'd called him her savior. He hadn't saved her from anything. All he'd done was release her from the sarcophagus. Obviously she thought he'd done more than that. As she looked at him, there was absolutely no doubt that she was fond of him. He could only hope "his lordship" was too blind to notice.

"For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude," His Lordship addressed Ptolomey directly. "Tell me. What is your name?"

"Ptolomey," he answered with an elegant bow. Let His Lordship make of that what he will.

His Lordship showed no outward reaction to the bow. "I am Harkon, lord of this court," he announced. "By now, my daughter will have told you what we are."

"Actually, she hasn't," Ptolomey replied. He didn't want to involve Serana in whatever came to pass here. "However, if your choice in cuisine, your sense of fashion, and the overall manner in which you present yourself are anything to go by, I'd say you are rather powerful and old vampires." He watched closely for any reaction from His Lordship.

His Lordship's eyes narrowed slightly. Either he'd caught the subtle insults Ptolomey had given him or he was just confused. Ptolomey assume the former. His Lordship was obviously a scumbag but not a fool. You didn't survive for thousands of years by being a fool. However, Ptolomey wasn't going to give him the honor of refering to him by his name.

"Indeed," was His Lordship's simple response. "We are the most ancient and powerful vampires in Skyrim," he continued in a loud voice. "For thousands of years we've lived here, unseen and unchallenged. But at the very beginning, my wife betrayed me and took from me that which I value most." His court growled and muttered in anger. He'd trained them quite well.

"Seeing as you are still a vampire, it's obvious she didn't take that which you value most," Ptolomey retorted.

"So you recognize the power we hold," His Lordship surmised. "You can have that power yourself. It is the only reward I can offer that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll. And my daughter," he added as an afterthought. Serana's face was too blank. She was obviously upset about her father's disregard for her.

His Lordship continued when Ptolomey said nothing. "I offer you my blood. Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach and you will never fear death again."

"And if I refuse your gift?" Ptolomey asked. He was going to refuse regardless but he wanted to know what to expect.

"Then you will be prey, like all mortals," His Lordship said. "I'll spare you this once, but you will be banished from this hall. Perhaps you need convincing. BEHOLD THE POWER!"

With those words, his body contorted and elongated, similar to how werewolves transformed. He was more bulky and muscular. His face now resembled a bat's, complete with a slightly upturned nose and large ears. His flesh turned a dead grey and he grew wing-like appendages out of his shoulders. They were useless for flying but he flapped them and started hovering above the floor.

The strangest thing of all was that he wore clothing over his genitalia. Werewolves' clothes shredded and they didn't acquire any on transformation. His robe must have transformed along with his body, because Molag Bal most certainly didn't have a sense of decency. After all, Ptolomey knew what happened to females who were offered to Molag Bal in exchange for becoming pure-blooded vampires. No, a sense of decency would have been completely out of character for the King of Rape.

"Make your choice," His Lordship's guttural voice rang through the hall. Most of the vampires were looking at him in terrified admiration. Serana looked distinctly unimpressed.

Ptolomey pursed his lips as he pretended to think about his decision. "I will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at my approach and I will never fear death again," he quoted His Lordship with a grin. Time to throw the vampire's offer back in his face.

"Firstly, it's a wolf in sheep's clothing, not a lion among sheep. That makes no sense at all. Secondly, I don't see men trembling at your approach; probably because you've hidden in here for millenia. And thirdly, unlike you and the rabble you surround yourself with, I do not fear death. So, as tempting as your offer to make me into one of your toadies is, I'm afraid I must respectfully decline. _Sir_."

Serana looked like he'd kissed her hand again. She had to have known he'd refuse. Could he have insulted her? He'd only meant to insult His Lordship and his toadies. He'd have to apologize if he ever saw her again.

All the other vampires looked ready to rip out his throat. They were hissing and baring their fangs at him. Ptolomey had several plans if things went south, but he didn't think they'd go against their lord's decree.

His Lordship's ugly face was impossible to read. Since he wasn't baring his fangs or showing any other outward sign of aggression, he was clearly beyond furious. Ptolomey gave him a taunting look, daring him to go against his word. This was undoubtedly the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but he really hated this asshole.

"You'd better hope I never see your face again," His Lordship growled threateningly. "Because if I do, I will not give you the mercy of a quick death."

"I hope I never see your face again either," Ptolomey riposted. "I'm going to have nightmares as it is." Hopefully Serana wouldn't hate him too much for this.

His Lordship cast a spell that Ptolomey hadn't seen before. It hit him like a blast of frigid air. He looked at Serana, trying to project confidence and assurance. He memorized her features, just in case.

Darkness enveloped him, and he lost consciousness.

**This one took me a while. Sorry to have kept you waiting. **

**The next chapter will get done when it gets done. No promises.**

**Ciao.**


	14. Travel Time

**I don't have anything I need to say. Enjoy!**

**To Guest: He may be the Arch-Mage, but he is still human.**

Serana stared at the spot where Ptolomey had stood. She didn't know what Harkon had done exactly. The spell he'd cast was something she'd never seen before. She didn't think he'd killed Ptolomey, though. The energy had been similar to that of some Conjuration spells, so maybe he'd teleported him away. Hopefully he hadn't sent him to one of the planes of Oblivion.

Harkon reverted back to his human form. "Your friend has a lot of gall," he said in a soft voice. "Who is he?"

"He never told me," she lied.

Harkon studied her with cold, hard eyes. Both his irises _and _his pupils were glowing yellow, unlike hers. It was hard to tell, but Serana could have sworn there were hints of red as well.

"Then allow me to enlighten you," he said. "He is the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold."

Serana's brow rose in surprise, so she tried to cover it up. "Arch-Mage? Is he in charge of the College? What happened to Shalidor?"

Harkon chuckled humorlessly. "You can drop the charade, Serana. You know how long you've been hidden from the world. That is why I'm going to forgive you for your feelings toward the Arch-Mage."

Serana swallowed. Was it that obvious?

"You've been alone for millenia. I'm not surprised you latched onto the first person with whom you made contact. It's a shame," he said changing the subject. "He would have made a fine addition to my court. He's powerful, ambitious, dangerous." Harkon watched her from the corner of his eye. "He also has a taste for blood."

He smiled as Serana's brow furrowed. "Yes, he has quite the taste for blood." He came uncomfortably close to her and spoke just above a whisper. "He's a murderer; killed an entire clan in High Rock."

Serana narrowed her eyes at her father. Ptolomey? A murderer? She couldn't believe Harkon expected her to believe that. If he was a murderer, then she was the Queen of Atmora. Did Atmora even have a queen?

"You don't believe me," Harkon observed. "Suit yourself." He took the Elder Scroll from Serana's back. "I'll just hold onto this," he said lightly. "In case your mother had greater influence on you than I thought."

He moved away from her, gazing at the Scroll. "What is your secret, my little friend?" he asked it. "How do I end the Tyranny of the Sun?"

Serana felt despair begin to surface within her. It had failed. Her mother's plan to maintain the Tyranny of the Sun had failed. Harkon had the Scroll. He'd find a way to read it. The Tyranny of the Sun would end, and all the armies of Tamriel would crash down upon the vampires.

_"No they won't."_ She'd get the Scroll back. She'd get it back and get away from here, somehow. With a distasteful glance at her father, she headed deeper into the castle. Vampires would _not _be wiped out. She would _not _let Harkon win.

()

Harkon watched his daughter disappear through the doorway. She would need watching. His court continued their feasting and conversations, which were mostly about what they planned to do if they got their hands on that brat of an Arch-Mage. Some of the descriptions were rather graphic and detailed. Harkon found himself smiling at what he heard.

The gate to the castle crashed open. Harkon turned to see Orthjolf storming down the stairs. He'd gotten the jump on Vingalmo and tried to get to the Elder Scroll before Lokil did. Even without having the Scroll hidden behind his back, Harkon could tell Orthjolf had failed.

Orthjolf calmed himself enough so that he was just angry, not furious. "My lord," he said with a small bow, "the Elder Scroll was not there."

"Not there?" Harkon repeated. "Where is it, then?"

"I don't know, my lord," Orthjolf growled. "But Lokil doesn't have it. We found him dead, along with everyone who went with him. Whoever killed him must have it."

"Not anymore," Harkon revealed the Scroll. Orthjolf's eyes widened and he bared his teeth in a silent snarl. One thing was certain: Orthjolf was a sore loser.

"Who are they?" Orthjolf growled. His hand stroked the head of his war axe. This was why Orthjolf needed to be replaced. He relied on steel. That weakness could end up being very costly.

"_He_," Harkon emphasized the singular pronoun, "is no longer a factor." He gave Orthjolf a dismissive wave before returning to admiring the Scroll.

Orthjolf gave a stiff bow before storming away, kicking one of the death hounds as he did. The beast snarled but he didn't stop to put it back in its place. A moment later door slammed from deeper in the castle.

Harkon grinned in malicious delight. It was time to set his plans in motion.

()

Ptolomey groaned as he came to. It was very bright and he had to close his eyes again. His head felt like a giant was squeezing it. His ears and nose were cold, as were his extremities. He heard a constant whining noise that made his head hurt worse.

"Gods damn it," he swore as he sat up. His head swam and he nearly vomitted. He cast Healing and slowly felt his headache go away. It also brought the feeling back in his extremities. He opened his eyes slightly. The light still hurt but only in the way bright light always hurt.

He was sitting in snow. He stood up and brushed the snow off. The wind was blowing hard, bringing the temperature down even more. Now he was glad he hadn't shaved for the past week. It kept his face warmer. He looked around. The sun was at its peak, but he saw no land features anywhere. What place had no land features whatsoever?

He took a step and heard the ground crack beneath him. He froze then slowly stooped down and shovelled some snow away. The ground cracked again as his weight shifted. He hit something solid: ice. He was standing on ice.

It made sense now. He was on an ice floe, somewhere in the Sea of Ghosts. Now he knew which way to go. The wind almost always blew from the north on the Sea of Ghosts, so all he had to do was walk with it. Hopefully not too far. Hopefully the wind was just blowing the snow so much that he couldn't see very far.

Normally, one had to worry about thin ice when walking across these ice floes, but he didn't. He'd gone to Solstheim a while back, where the only objects known to have the Waterwalking enchantment could be found. He'd found one and had managed to duplicate the effect as a spell. So now he quite literally just had to walk south.

He cast the Waterwalk spell and followed the blowing snow. The spell wore off after a short time, so he cast a new one every minute or so. After about ten minutes he could make out a dark shape on the horizon. It was land; he couldn't tell how far away it was but it was land.

A short time later, the ice he was walking on ended. He hesitated for a moment. Every instinct was screaming at him not to do it. He cast Waterwalk twice just to make sure he'd done it and stepped "into" the water.

The spell worked perfectly. He'd known it would, but stepping onto the ocean was different than stepping onto a shallow pond. No matter how often you practiced something, the real thing was always nerve-racking the first time. He walked across the still ocean, trying not to look down.

Ptolomey's "mage mind" started thinking. What would happen if you waterwalked on waves? Would you rise as the wave did, or would it crash into you? And what about a river? Could you just stand and it would carry you along?

Ptolomey shook his head and cast the spell again. He'd experiment with that later. Right now, he needed to get back to Fort Dawnguard. Isran had told him to find out what was in Dimhollow, and he'd done just that. Now he would get to examine the object and see what he could learn.

He reached the shore of the ocean perhaps ten minutes later. He couldn't remember ever being happier to be standing on something solid. Some mountains stretched off to the south. He recognized one of the peaks. He was on the opposite side of Skyrim from Castle Volkihar, near the border with Morrowind. Hopefully someone besides Harkon knew that spell that had sent him here. It would be incredibly useful.

_"Don't get your hopes up,"_ he thought dryly. _"Just get to Windhelm."_

It took him just over an hour to reach Windhelm. Once he got there, he took the carriage to Riften. The journey took about six hours, so it was getting dark when he arrived. Ptolomey decided to spend the night at The Bee and Barb. It was safer to travel during the day. He didn't want to take any chances, especially now that he'd pissed off a large group of powerful vampires. A warm meal didn't sound bad, either.

Ptolomey opened the door to the inn. The smell of mead and the sound of singing hit him like a wave. A rather large crowd was gathered near the firepit singing "Ragnar the Red". Mead always seemed to make everyone think they'd gone to the Bards College. The place sounded like a hospice for cats.

"When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!" the crowd finished the song. They burst into cheers and staggered around in typical Nord fashion. Ptolomey pulled his hood down and wound his way to the counter where an Argonian woman was cleaning a mug. Did innkeepers just keep dirty mugs around so they always looked like they were doing something?

"A room for the night," he said dropping ten septims on the counter. "And a venison chop with grilled leeks."

"Nothing to drink?" the woman asked.

"No, thank you," he replied. He had water in his waterskin.

"Ten septims," the woman said. Ptolomey counted out the amount and placed it beside the others. "Take a seat. I'll bring that out."

He nodded in thanks and took an empty seat near the firepit. He took off his knapsack and layed the Staff next to it on the floor. He was careful to keep an eye on them. He may have been a mage, but even mages knew about the Thieves Guild.

The innkeeper brought his food to him five minutes later. He nodded in thanks again and dug in. He'd always loved venison. He didn't like leeks, but they were healthy so he scarfed them down. It was easier if he washed each mouthful down with water.

Nords never drank water, not that he'd ever seen. All they ever drank was mead. Sometimes they'd have an ale, if they were feeling adventurous. It was a wonder they weren't drunk off their asses all the time.

"That's a real nice staff you got there," a voice slurred loudly from behind him. The conversations in the room went silent and everyone turned to look in his direction.

_"How ironic."_ All he had to do was think about them, and one of the drunken oafs wanted to start trouble. Did it work with sultry maidens, too?

Ptolomey put his foot on the Staff and turned to face the voice. An unremarkable Nord man was leaning against a column with a mead bottle in his hand. The man blinked hard then squinted at him.

"Wait ... I know you," he pointed his finger about an inch from Ptolomey's face.

Ptolomey leaned away from the finger and raised his eyebrows. "Do you?" he asked.

"Yeah. This guy came here earlier. Said he was looking for a mage with a pretty staff. Had a picture too." The man fumbled in his pant pockets then pulled out a parchment with Ptolomey's face drawn on it. Whoever had drawn it was good.

"And what did this "guy" want with me?" Ptolomey asked. Some of the men in the room were moving towards him. Everyone else was shuffling toward the doors.

A different man answered. "Said to bring you to Redwater Den. Nice reward for it, too. So come quietly, and you won't get roughed up." One of the men cracked his knuckles in anticipation. Everyone except for the six men encircling him cleared out.

_"Well, shit."_ All he'd wanted was a warm meal and a soft bed. But no, those damn vampires had to go and put a bounty on his head. How had they gotten to Riften so quickly? Probably ran the whole way. They _were _good couriers.

Ptolomey sighed and scratched his beard. He'd need to shave soon. The thing was too damn itchy. He turned forward in the chair again then ate the last bite of his venison chop. He'd paid for it, and he was damn sure going to finish it.

"Alright," he said calmly. He picked up the Staff and his knapsack. The men shifted, wary of attack. "Oh, would you just relax?!" he scolded them. He charged a spell with the Staff. "It'll hurt less that way."

He released the spell, sending a wave of Paralysis in every direction. The men's muscles froze and they all fell to the floor, stiff as boards. Ptolomey caught one of them before he fell into the firepit. He laid the man next to one of his fellow bounty hunters.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. He did mean it. Being paralyzed was not a pleasant experience. He went over to the counter, grabbed ten septims, and put them in his coin pouch. He wasn't going to spend the night here now.

He cast the spell again. "I can't have you boys following me, after all," he told them. He cast the Muffle spell and charged the Invisibility spell. "And if you try to take me again, I may not be so understanding." He released his spell and vanished from sight.

He went out the back door and headed toward the city's north gate. The other patrons were standing around the inn, murmuring and wondering what was happening inside. The Paralysis spell would wear off after a couple minutes, so he needed to get a move on.

He got out of the city without any further confrontations. The guards had been very surprised to see the gate open by itself, and even more surprised when the air told them to have a good night. They'd drawn their swords and actually swung at the air around them. Ptolomey had a good laugh at their expense.

Fort Dawnguard was to the east, so that was the direction he headed. He found a shallow depression in an outcropping about a half-hour walk from the city. He decided to sleep there; it was hidden well enough. He laid out his bedroll and tried to get comfortable. It wasn't easy, but eventually he fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was still dark. The moons cast some light on the landscape. He couldn't have slept more than several hours but he felt as if he'd slept a full night. It was peculiar, but Ptolomey wasn't complaining. It meant he could get to Fort Dawnguard all the faster. He set off, ingnoring his own advice about traveling during the day.

He reached the cave that led to the fort after walking for an hour. He stopped a fair distance from it. The insects had gone silent. Someone was nearby. For some reason, th torches that marked the cave were out. He pretended to shake a pebble out of his boot. He didn't want the person to know he knew they were there.

Ptolomey cast Detect Life. Discreetly, he looked around. He ignored the pinpricks of light that were the silent insects. There was nothing else around. He cast Detect Dead. He ignored the pinpricks that were the dead insects. This time, he saw the glowing silhouette of a vampire. There was nothing else it could be.

It was standing in the deep shadows just inside the cave mouth. It was a pretty good place for an ambush. But now he knew where it was; and hopefully it didn't know he knew. He put his boot back on.

He drew nearer to the cave. The torches weren't out, they weren't there at all. He drew even nearer. To his surprise, the vampire stepped out of the shadows. He was even more surprised when it spoke.

"Hello Ptolomey," the feminine voice said.

Ptolomey blinked. "Serana?" he said in disbelief.

"Who else?" she replied.

He didn't respond. He just looked in her eyes. It was hard to see much else. He was surprised at how glad he was to see her again. And it hadn't even been a day! Had he really gotten that attached to her?

She moved closer to him. "First things first," she said.

Something hit Ptolomey hard across the face. He groaned and tried to blink the stars out of his eyes. His cheek hurt like fire. Serana's eyes were on fire when he finally blinked the stars away.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" she yelled at him. "You're damn lucky Harkon didn't kill you!"

"Probably," he replied.

"_Probably_?" she quoted incredulously. "You're _most definitely _damn lucky he didn't kill you! Damn lucky he banished you instead!"

"Yeah," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm surprised he has enough honor to keep his word."

Serana's eyes flared. She raised her hand to slap him again. Ptolomey just looked at her with a calm face. She hesitated, then let her hand drop to her side. She let out a weary sigh and looked down.

"I was too," she said wearily. After a moment, she looked back up at him. "Where have you been?"

"He sent me onto an ice floe, near the border with Morrowind," he answered. "Do you know how he did that?"

She ignored the question. "I mean, where have you been all this time?"

He frowned at her. "All this time? I came here as quickly as I could. How did _you _get here so fast?"

Serana frowned at him. "How did it take you this long to get here?"

Ptolomey gave an exasperated laugh. "Forgive me for not being as fast as a vampire! I woke up in the snow, I walked to Windhelm, took a carriage to Riften, slept for a couple hours, and here I am! It's been maybe twelve hours!"

She blinked and her brow furrowed. She studied his face intently, like someone does when checking for sickness. Ptolomey looked at her in confusion but she ignored him.

"How _did _you get here so fast?" he asked again. "You had to have run the whole way to get here before me. I'm not sure you could've done it even then." She continued to examine him while he spoke.

She stopped examining him and answered the question. "I rode here," she said.

He gave her an incredulous look. "Even on a horse, it would take you at least three days to get here. Now, I'm going to ask again, Serana. And this time, no bullshit. How did you get here so fast?"

"Ptolomey," she said softly. Her tone surprised him. "I ... I don't know what happened to you. I don't know how Harkon sent you onto the ice. I've never seen that spell before, and I hope it didn't do anything to you."

Ptolomey was confused. "What are you talking about?"

Serana looked concerned and her voice was gentle as she surprised him again. "Ptolomey ... It's been thirteen days."

***GASP* What has happened?! I'll tell you, but not now. Something has happened in those thirteen days, but I'm not going to tell you that now, either. See you at the next chapter.**

**Ciao.**


	15. What Has Happened

**I had some writer's block. The chapter is a little shorter. Enjoy!**

Serana was confused by Ptolomey's reaction. He didn't look shocked or stunned. He barely even looked surprised. If anything his expression was curious, as if she'd told him a new species of horker had been discovered or something. This reaction was not normal. Maybe the spell had done something to him.

"Really?" His voice was intrigued. "Hm. Maybe that spell isn't so useful after all. Hopefully I can fix it. Does anyone else know that spell?" he asked her.

She ignored the question. "Are you okay, Ptolomey?" She was beginning to worry about his mental state. She didn't pretend to be an expert but he didn't look like he was insane. He looked the same as he had before. Then again, not everyone who was insane looked like it.

Ptolomey cocked his head slightly to the side and gave her a quizzical look. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? Oh." Comprehension replaced his puzzlement. "Don't worry, I'm fine. You live at the College long enough, you know an adverse effect when you see one. Believe me," he stressed with a nod.

She wasn't quite convinced. "How would you recognize an adverse effect in yourself? Especially in your mind? Couldn't you have changed so much that you wouldn't recognize it as wrong?"

Ptolomey opened his mouth but shut it without speaking. He made an impressed face. "That's true," he conceded. "I suppose someone else will have to be the judge of that. Well? Do I seem insane to you, Serana?"

She regarded him for another moment. "No, you don't," she admitted.

"Was I say to going were you thought I, second a for," he said in relief.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

He gave her a confused look. "Backwards talking you are why?"

Serana's eyes widened and her mouth dropped in shock. She backed away from him, shaking her head in disbelief. He'd gone mad; just now, right in front of her. He was standing before her, shaking slightly and clenching his jaw. His face was turning red and his mouth was twitching. She looked at his eyes. They were alight with ... amusement? Wait a minute ...

Ptolomey burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I couldn't resist."

She just stood there and stared at him. Her initial feeling was immense relief, which was immediately followed and overwhelmed by embarrassed anger. She couldn't believe it. This ... this ... _**asshole**_ had scared her half to death! And now he was laughing at her again! She scowled fiercly at him, which made him laugh harder. Her embarrassment and anger grew, so she did the only thing she could do: she slapped him again.

"Ow!" Ptolomey exclaimed as he rubbed his cheek. "Was that really necessary?"

"Was it really necessary to scare me to death?!" she retorted.

"I didn't scare you to death," he countered. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

Serana quirked an eyebrow at his logic. "Yes, it was necessary," she answered his first question. Her anger was slowly subsiding. "I feel much better now."

"Well _I _don't," he complained, rubbing his cheek again. Golden energy flowed from his hand into his cheek. He gave an exagerated sigh. "Much better," he breathed with a smile.

She shook her head. He was a strange man; but what else did you expect from a mage? They were an odd bunch. At least they had been before. Perhaps is was part of their job description. She'd thought being ugly was also part of their job description but that must have changed somewhere along the line.

"_Don't. Don't start_," she commanded herself. She wasn't going to lose her head by looking at him right now. She looked around her, at the trees and the stars; the mountains and the moons. It had been too long since she'd just stopped to admire the beauty of the world. She hadn't thought of the world as being beautiful before. Being locked up for a couple millenia had changed her perspective. _Some _of her perspective, not all.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Ptolomey interrupted her sightseeing. She returned her focus to him, keeping her warning in mind. He was completely serious again. It was odd how quickly he could do that.

"I was hoping to find you," she replied. His eyebrow quirked and she shifted slightly. Damn, he made her self-conscious! She tried to cover it up by wrapping her new cloak closer around her.

"Why?" he asked.

"To stop you from wasting your time, for one," she said. Ptolomey frowned. "The Dawnguard aren't here. Not anymore."

"Where are they, then? I need to speak with Isran," he said.

"He's dead," Serana told him. "They all are. My father sent some of us to wipe them out."

His face and voice were hard. "Did he send you too?" he asked.

"No," she answered quickly. "I followed them. You said you'd been sent by the Dawnguard, so I thought maybe you'd be here. You weren't, so I waited."

Ptolomey shook his head. "Just start from the beginning. What exactly has happened?"

She took a breath before she spoke. "After my father banished you, he took the Elder Scroll. He wouldn't let anyone near it, and kept it locked up in his chambers. He doesn't trust me, or anybody for that matter. But I'm sure you've figured that out already. He had me shadowed, but that fool Modhna wasn't as subtle as she thought."

She smirked to herself before continuing. "I have to get the Scroll back; I'll tell you why later. A week after you "left", my father sent Orthjolf, one of his advisors, and two dozen others to wipe out the Dawnguard. You said they'd sent you. So I followed, hoping to get to you before they did."

"It took three days to finally get here. They sure chose a secluded place to hide. Anyway, I snuck inside while they were preparing for the attack. You weren't here, and I gathered that you hadn't already been here and gone. So I got out and decided to wait, to see if you'd turn up" She watched for his reaction.

"You let the Dawnguard get slaughtered?" Ptolomey asked bluntly. He sounded on the verge of anger.

"It was hardly a slaughter," she countered. "Twelve of us were killed before the last Dawnguard fell. And why would I warn them? They were trying to kill us."

"Because they were not the enemy!" he answered heatedly. His eyes shone with anger now.

"Of who, Ptolomey?" she asked with her own anger. "Who were they not the enemy of? Of you? Of course not, you're mortal. They were our enemy. They wanted to exterminate us, like rats. Is that what you want too?" She took a step closer to him. "Do you want us all exterminated?" Her angry eyes stared at his angry eyes.

His eyes lost their angry fire and he looked away. "No," he answered in a subdued voice. "No, I don't." He looked back at her and surprised her. "I'm sorry."

Serana blinked. Well, that was unexpected. Her eyes narrowed at him. He had to be trying to pull something. But his eyes showed no deceit. He really was sorry. For what exactly she didn't know, but if she didn't look away she was going to hug him. Damn those fucking eyes of his!

She looked down and smoothed her hair back. "Uh ... forget it," she stammered. She tried to think of something else to say. "What- What are you going to do now?" She met his gaze again.

Ptolomey stared at her for a second. Then he gave a start. "I ... I need to check out the fort," he nodded toward the cave. "There was something there I needed to study, and I need to see if it's still there."

"Okay," she replied. She gestured to the cave. "Come on, then."

"You're coming with me?" he asked. She quirked an eyebrow at him. He made a sheepish face. "Right. You waited here for days. You're not ... Right." He headed into the cave. Serana rolled her eyes and followed him.

()

Ptolomey was deep in thought as he exited the cave. He'd turned back halfway to the fort. He couldn't sense the object. It wasn't in the fort anymore. Serana had told him the vampires had been tearing the fort apart, looking for something. She didn't know if they'd found it but he assumed they had. It had probably been the object.

Now they not only had their own magical object, they had the Dawnguard's. He didn't think they'd use it. He didn't even know if they could. But if they had it, that meant their enemies didn't. This was looking bleak. Something needed to be done.

"So," Serana interrupted his thoughts. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," he confessed. He gave Serana a sharp glance. "You said you were being shadowed. I didn't see anbody." He'd cast Detect Dead earlier and seen nothing.

"Oh, she's dead," she answered lightly. "She joined the attack and was killed by a big Redguard. He was a strong one, a skilled warrior."

"That was Isran," he told her. She gave him an apologetic grimace. "If I may ask," he said tentatively, "how many vampires did he kill?"

She gave him an unreadable glance before answering. "Six."

Ptolomey nodded noncommittally. "_Good_," he thought. He'd died doing what he did best. It was an honorable death; as honorable as death could be, anyways.

He looked at the sky. It had lightened slightly, but it was still a few hours until dawn. "Well, one thing I'm going to do for sure," he said. "I'm going to shave." He scratched at his beard. The cursed thing was so damn itchy! It wasn't worth keeping his face warm if he had to put up with the itching.

"Why? It looks good on you," Serana said.

He gave her a quizzical look. He still couldn't see much of her face, but the way her eyes kept flicking away and back again told him what she was feeling. She was embarrassed. He rubbed his beard to cover up his smirk.

He didn't know why, but he found it very funny when she was embarrassed. Maybe it was because it was a mortal emotion, in that mortals felt it. He didn't equate embarrassment to someone like Serana's father, His Lordship. Someone immortal, like him or other vampires, he didn't see as capable of feeling such an emotion. But she felt it. It was something he liked about her.

"_Don't. Don't start_," he told himself. This was not the appropriate time to think about that. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. He couldn't afford to look at her that way right now. He couldn't look her in the ... eyes.

His hand fell away from his face and his smirk vanished. Those ... beautiful ... glowing ... golden eyes. He was doing it! He was doing it and he couldn't stop! He shook his head to snap himself out of it. She made him shake his head a lot.

"Um ... Well, thanks. I guess," he said embarrassedly. "But it's- it's too damn itchy. I have to get rid of it."

Serana's eyes now looked amused. "I didn't say 'Don't get rid of it'" she said.

"But I have to. I- You didn't?" he said, still flustered. Her eyes were now sparkling with amusement, making him blush. She was laughing at him! Silently, but still! He grimaced, closed his eyes, and groaned at his embarrassing behavior. He'd never stumbled like this before!

When he opened his eyes, Serana was covering up a smirk. He couldn't see it but he knew that was what she was doing. "Can we go now?" he demanded.

"By all means," she replied as she gestured down the path. She openly chuckled at him which made blush more. He turned away and headed down the path before he wounded his pride any further. Serana kept chuckling as she followed.

Damn, it was good to have her back.

**Ptolomey didn't seem to get flustered enough, so I made him get embarrassed. I'll get the next chapter up whenever it gets done. No promises.**

**Ciao.**


	16. The Arch-Mage's Story

**Sorry this chapter took so long. I was enjoying my fall break. **

**I'm going to take the main College quest from the game and change it a little. It's important for developing Ptolomey's character. **

**Chapter's a little longer. Enjoy!**

Serana idly watched Ptolomey as he knelt by the stream. They'd been walking for a couple hours and the sun was just peeking over the mountaintops. Ptolomey had told her about his little confrontation with the men in Riften, so they were heading for Windhelm. From there they'd go to Winterhold.

Ptolomey had stopped to rest. She didn't grow weary like mortals did, so she found the delay mildly annoying. Unless she wanted to carry him, she'd just have to put up with it. She wasn't going to be that forward.

"Were you a fish in another life?" she joked. Ptolomey was drinking from the stream as if he were dying of thirst. He turned to face her, water dripping from his beard.

"We get only one life, Serana," he answered seriously. "So no, I wasn't. I hate water that tastes like leather, so I'm drinking as much fresh water as I can." He turned back around and scooped more water into his mouth.

Serana took special note of his response. We get only one life. It sounded like an adage. From the solemness of his voice, it was obvious he felt strongly about it. She'd have to ask him about that sometime, but not right now.

She looked up when she heard Ptolomey walking towards where she sat on a fallen log. She suppressed a smile. He was clutching at his stomach and looking like he'd eaten something that didn't agree with him.

He stopped a short distance from her. "Ugh," he groaned. "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea." He bent over, bracing his arms on his knees.

"Do you need a bucket?" she quipped, remembering how he'd handled the sea voyage. He shook his head rapidly and didn't look up at her. She laughed softly at him.

Now he gave her a dry look. "Does my suffering amuse you, Serana?" he asked severely.

"Yes it does, actually," she replied in the same tone, just as she had before. They both started chuckling. This had the makings of a running joke.

Ptolomey straightened and gingerly walked over to a boulder in front of her. He sat down facing her and gave a sigh. "We're going to have to wait until I feel better," he said.

Good. She could ask him about some things. She shifted to get a more comfortable seat and adjusted her full-length cloak. She was careful to keep the cloak closed. She had to keep the sun from touching her skin because it burned; if she was exposed too much, she'd die. But she already knew that.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked. She immediately wished she'd worded that differently.

"You just did," he replied.

She rolled her eyes. Sure enough, he'd said exactly what she thought he would. "How did you get those atronachs to obey you like that?" She was referring to the storm atronachs he'd summoned in Dimhollow. "I've only ever seen them attack things that attack the summoner."

"Connection," he replied. "Summoning daedra creates a connection between the mind of the summoner and the daedra. Make that connection stronger, and you can order them to do simple things like I did."

"Although," he said as he leaned forward slightly, "some daedra can't be commanded simply by being summoned. Dremora are one of them. I've never been able to command a bound dremora. I don't know why. I've commanded an unbound dremora, but that was because it acknowledged me as its master." He frowned in thought.

"How do you make the connection stronger?" she asked. She was more skilled in necromancy, the resurrection of the dead, than in atromancy, the summoning of daedra. Both were considered Conjuration but they worked differently.

"You must learn to tune your mind to the correct psionic frequency, which can only be done through practice," he answered. "The first time I summoned an atronach, it disappeared within a minute. Now, many hundreds of summonings later, it stays for many days. Theoretically, I could keep an atronach in Mundus indefinitely." He gave a soft snort of laughter. "Actually, I'll die before I get to that level of control."

Serana was strangely troubled by his last statement. He sounded so unconcerned about his death. True, he'd told her father that he didn't fear death but lots of men had claimed that. They always changed their minds in the end. But she was seriously doubting that he would. She put her worry aside for the moment.

"How old are you?" she inquired. She felt a surge of apprehension. Hopefully she hadn't just stepped over some line.

Ptolomey looked a little amused. "Getting a little personal, are we?" he asked lightly. Serana felt the faintest hints of a blush warm her cheeks. "Twenty-nine," he answered her question.

"Really? You look older than that." Serana didn't realized she'd said the words aloud until it was too late.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Gee, thanks," he grimaced. He chuckled at her expression and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's fine. Almost everyone at the College thinks I'm too young to be the Arch-Mage, so it's actually nice to be thought older than I am."

"How did you become the Arch-Mage?" she asked, hoping to put her embarrassing slip-up behind as quickly as possible.

"Appointment," he answered. Then he grinned at her disappointed expression. "Okay, I'll tell the story. Fair warning: it's rather lengthy. I became enrolled at the College three years ago. Yep, just three years ago," he said when her brow rose in surprise. "The story really begins about a year after that. The College was excavating a Nordic ruin called Saarthal, thought to be the first city built in Skyrim. You might know. Was it?"

"Yes it was," she responded. "It had been destroyed and abandoned before my time."

Ptolomey nodded absent-mindedly. "Anyway, I found an unusual passage that led beneath the city. Tolfdir, my instructer at the time, and I explored that passage. While exploring, I experienced a vision. A monk of the Psijic Order appeared and warned me of danger to come, and that I had to stop it. Do you know who the Psijics are?"

"I've heard of them," she admitted, "but I don't know much about them."

"They're extremely powerful mages," he explained. "Just how powerful we don't know, but some think they've transcended mortal existance somehow. Regardless, they only deal with those they deem worthy."

"You can imagine, I was a little surprised by this. I probably should have turned back, but the monk had said the chain of events couldn't be stopped. So we continued. Farther down, we uncovered an immensely powerful magical object."

He got a far-off look in his eyes. "It was a huge floating orb surrounded with a strange magical aura, covered in unknown symbols. It radiated magika; so much that even I could feel it." He paused, the far-off look still in his eyes.

As the silence stretched, Serana cleared her throat. Ptolomey looked at her. "You found an object," she prompted.

"Yes," he said, returning to the story. "Tolfdir sent me back to the College to inform the Arch-Mage, Savos Aren, about the discovery. Savos told me to ask our "librarian" for any books pertaining to Saarthal." He chuckled at something. "Urag would probably kill me if he knew I called him that."

"Well, Urag did have a book on Saarthal. It discusses the "Night of Tears", the attack on Saarthal by the elves. It discusses the possibility that the elves weren't necessarily trying to drive men from Skyrim; they were trying to capture something powerful buried beneath the city. You know what ultimately happened with that."

Serana nodded. "They were defeated, and Ysgramor sailed back to Atmora. Then he returned with the Five Hundred Companions and drove the elves from Skyrim."

"Correct," Ptolomey said. "Well, I brought it to Tolfdir's attention, though it didn't tell us much. I spent the next two days looking through other books but found nothing. On that second day, the object was brought to the College."

"Nothing interesting happened until a week after we'd found the object. Ancano," he said the name scornfully, "our resident Thalmor ambassador, told me someone "claiming to be from the Psijic Order" was asking to see me. So he led me to my- the Arch-Mage's quarters, where Savos and the Psijic monk were waiting."

"Somehow, the monk froze time so that he and I could speak privately. He told me that the object is called the Eye of Magnus. Rather, he told me that is what "my people" have taken to calling it. He came personally because I couldn't be reached with visions like before, due to the Eye. He told me something disasterous would happen soon, and that I had to stop it."

"I asked him why the Order didn't simply deal with it. He told me they don't intervene directly in events. Apparently they want us to have to deal with the consequences of our actions. Anyway, he told me to find the Augur of Dunlain," he said the last with some scorn as well.

"After that, he unfroze time and took his leave. Savos was confused and Ancano was angry. He didn't like not knowing things. I asked around and eventually found the Augur. He is ... something different. I don't know what he is now but he used to be a mage at the College before one of his experiments went wrong. Be glad you'll never have to meet him. He will suck all joy and happiness from your life."

"This is what he told me." Ptolomey sat straighter and spoke in a dull monotone that made Serana grin. "'You seek that which all who wield magic seek. Knowledge. You shall find this: knowledge will corrupt. It will destroy. It will consume. You seek meaning, shelter in knowledge. You will not find it.'"

He rolled his eyes and continued in his normal voice. "I told him to skip the sermon and tell me what I needed to know. He told me to find the Staff of Magnus, that it was the only way to look through the Eye of Magnus without being blinded."

"I learned that some mages from Cyrodiil came to the College looking for the Staff. They went to a Dwemer ruin called Mzulft when we didn't have it. So I went there. A few skirmishes and a focusing crystal later, I reached the oculory. The last of the mages was there working on it. Somehow, the oculory harnesses starlight. I don't know what the dwarves used it for but the mage used it and the focusing crystal to detect objects of magical power."

"The oculory projects a map of northern Tamriel onto the wall. It showed only two pinpricks of light representing the location of magical objects. One was at the College: the Eye. The other was in Labyrinthian, what used to be the city of Bromjunaar. That one had to be the Staff. So I went back to the College to inform Savos."

"When I got back, Ancano was doing ... something with the Eye. It was "open". You'd have to have seen it to know what I mean. He'd created a magical barrier around himself and it. Savos, Mirabelle, the Master Wizard, and I brought the barrier down and confronted Ancano. He released a huge explosion and I was knocked unconscious."

"When I came to, Ancano had created another barrier and Mirabelle was wounded. I didn't see Savos anywhere. I told Mirabelle what I'd learned. She decided I should be the one to retrieve the Staff, since I was who the Psijics were so interested in. I left, and found Savos outside the College. He was dead." His eyes turned very sad and he sat silently for many long moments.

"Hey," Serana said gently. He looked up at her. "You okay?"

He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. Whatever Ancano was doing to the Eye," he continued, "it was creating strange magical anomalies to appear and attack anyone they saw. I dealt with those I could, but more kept appearing. Tofdir told me to get the Staff and leave the anomalies to him and the others."

"So I went to Labyrinthian as quickly as I could. After nearly being killed by countless skeletons, draugr, a skeletal dragon, and a Dragon Priest, I found the Staff and left. I encountered another Thalmor on the way out. He was working with Ancano and was waiting for me, to take the Staff. I dealt with him and returned to the College."

"I returned to the College and found everyone in Winterhold. Ancano had extended his barriers to completely surround the College." His eyes turned sad again. "Mirabelle had been killed getting everyone out. I used the Staff to drain the barriers. Eventually, I reached Ancano. He was untouchable while the Eye was "open". So I used the Staff to "close" it. Back and forth we fought, until I finally killed him, draining the last of his life with the Staff. When I did, the anomalies stopped coming."

"The Eye "opened" again after I killed Ancano. I could see energy pouring from it like a waterfall. I don't know why I didn't see it before that. The Staff seemed drawn to it, so I placed it in the torrent. I felt this surge of power and knowledge course through my body. I knew how everything worked, how to change it; and had the power to do it. I felt so incredibly alive, I can't begin to describe it." He gazed into the distance again.

He shook himself out of his reverie. "Anyway, I severed the connection and the Eye "closed" for the last time. Three Psijic monks appeared immediately afterwards. They commended my actions, saying their faith in me was well placed. They decided that I had more than proven myself worthy to lead the College of Winterhold. They then took the Eye from this world. We're clearly not ready for something so powerful."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "And that is how I became the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold," he finished. He watched her with expectant eyes.

Serana didn't know what to say about a story like that. She did have a couple questions, though. "So what happened to the Staff? Did the Psijics take it too?"

Ptolomey stretched out his hand and his staff flew from where it leaned against a tree into his grasp. She looked at it then back at him, wondering why he'd done that. Then it hit her.

"That's the Staff of Magnus," she said with a hint of awe.

Ptolomey nodded. "Indeed it is," he replied. "It's different than when I first found it. Somehow it must change to the wielder's preferences. I have no idea how, but I'm glad it does."

Serana looked at its intricate carvings and ornate head. What could you do with something like that? Even without the Eye, it was still a powerful object. She felt jealousy rising up, telling her her take the Staff. She fought it down before it grew too strong. It wasn't hers, and she wasn't going to take it from him.

She focused on her second question. "Why did you sever the connection between the Staff and the Eye? Was it killing you?"

Ptolomey frowned as if confused. "No. I just severed it."

Now she frowned in confusion. "Why? Didn't you want the power and the knowledge you felt from it?"

"Not really," he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"It would've been empty," he replied.

Her frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"

"All that knowledge," he said, "all that power, it wasn't mine. I didn't do anything to earn it. Besides, I wouldn't be a mage if I knew everything. That's the point of being a mage: learning, seeking knowledge. I want to find the knowledge myself, not have it handed to me on a silver platter. As for power, I don't deserve that much power. No one does."

Serana just looked at Ptolomey, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. He'd held power in the palm of his hand, and let it go. She felt a new level of respect for him. She would've grasped onto that power and never let it go. How was he this modest?

Ptolomey began walking back and forth. "I feel much better now," he told her. He looked at her. "Should we be traveling in the sunlight? I know vampires aren't very fond of it."

"We can," she answered. "As long as I don't let it touch me too much. That's what the cloak is for." Well, that was _one _of the things the cloak was for.

"As long as it's fine with you," he said. Serana smiled at his gracious response. She would have thought it patronizing from anyone but him. He was a thoughtful man. The only men she'd been around were her father and his "toadies", as Ptolomey called them. They couldn't care less about anyone but themselves. It was nice to be around someone who cared.

_"How much does he care? How much do I care?"_

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. The whole point of the story was to show another aspect of Ptolomey. **

**Next chapter will come when it comes. That sounded bad.**

**Ciao.**


	17. Impeccable Timing

**Sorry this took forever. I went through three ideas before deciding on this one. Writer's block didn't help any either. But, it's here now!**

**Enjoy!**

"Did you ever meet a Dwemer?" Ptolomey asked his vampire companion. They were approaching the dwarven lift that led to the Mzulft oculory.

"Yes," Serana answered.

"What were they like?" he asked, his curiosity piquing.

"Imagine the Altmer except darker, shorter, and a hundred times more arrogant," she replied. Her face was hidden by her hood but he could hear her distasteful grimace. "They were not people you wanted to be around."

The pair of them stepped into the lift. Ptolomey pulled the lever on the wall. The cogs at the corners of the platform groaned then began turning slowly, pulling the platform down. Instead of climbing gods-knew-how-many stairs, you just had to stand back and let the machine take you down. It was Ptolomey's favorite Dwemer creation.

He cast a light-orb, which floated above his head. The lift had none of the peculiar blue-green light sources the Dwemer used, so he had to supply his own. He turned around to speak to his companion to find her busy studying the lift. He decided not to interrupt her. He didn't like being interrupted, so he didn't interrupt others.

Finishing her examination, Serana turned to him and pulled her hood back, still keeping the cloak closed. She was looking a bit pale but Ptolomey wasn't concerned. She'd told him this would happen. If she was touched directly by sunlight, it burned. If she was indoors or under substantial shade, the sun did nothing. While wearing a cloak, she didn't burn but she used up blood faster than normal. Ptolomey had no idea why that would be the case; neither did Serana.

She pulled a vial of Potion of Blood from her knapsack and drank it all at once. "So this is where you went to find the Staff of Magnus," she said idly.

"To the lift? No, that was the oculory," he answered. Serana gave him a deadpan look. "Right. Less literal," he reminded himself. They'd had a discussion as they walked. He answered questions literally and apparently it got a little annoying. So he'd promised to try to not do it so much.

He noticed she was looking yearningly at the Staff. "You could just ask," he said as he tilted the Staff toward her. He didn't let most people touch the Staff, but Serana wasn't most people. The thought confused him a little.

_"Since when am I so trusting?" _he thought. He barely knew this woman, yet he was letting her do something he didn't let people he'd known for years do. She had a peculiar effect on him.

Serana looked surprised. "Really? Thank you," she said as she took the Staff. Ptolomey found himself strangely embarrassed by her gratitude. Very peculiar effect indeed.

She studied the ornate head with fascination. "Why does it glow?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "Maybe because of it's connection to the Eye."

She nodded absently and continued to study it. "What can it do?" she asked. Ptolomey hid his hand behind his back and cast Detect Life, an Alteration spell. Serana's eyes widened and she looked at him. "What was that?"

He grinned. "It can detect spells that are being cast nearby. It can even distinguish the different schools of magic." He cast Muffle, an Illusion spell. "Feel the difference?"

She nodded. "Incredible," she breathed. She began examining the shaft. "What else?"

"You can channel spells through it, which makes them more powerful," he answered. That was actually how the Staff's Telekinesis worked. "It adds its own magika to the spell. Eventually you could drain it completely, but it would take months of constant use." He tried to keep it completely full all of the time. He was a bit of a perfectionist in that regard.

Serana cast Fireball with the Staff and sent it hurling up the lift shaft. Several seconds later, it hit the top with a resounding _boom_. "You aren't kidding. I wonder how long I could resurrect a man with this," she mused. She looked at him. "Is that all?"

He shook his head. "It can drain magika from someone, then drain their lifeforce when their magika is gone. That's how I killed Ancano. It absorbs the magika of spells too." He shot an Ice Spear at the Staff. It vanished just before it struck.

"Incredible," she breathed again.

The platform hit the bottom of the lift with a _thud_ that echoed terribly. Ptolomey headed through the door into Mzulft. He look around. Nothing had changed as far as he could tell. He cast Detect Life and Detect Dead. He did this every time he entered a place like this, to check for ambushes. There was nothing alive around and all the dead bodies were still there.

"The Dwemer are definitely not around," Serana remarked behind him. She spotted one of the dead Falmer. "Is that a Falmer? she asked with disgust. He nodded. "See? The Dwemer were not good people. How could they do this to an entire race?" She tilted the Staff toward him.

He looked at it for a second. "You can hold onto it," he told her. "See how long you can keep one of these animated," he suggested, gesturing to the corpses.

Serana surprised him by giving him a one-armed hug. "Thank you!" she said excitedly. She turned around and used the Staff to cast a Conjuration spell at a Falmer. The thing crawled to its feet and started sniffing. She cocked her head to the side, studying it.

Ptolomey stared at Serana's back with a dumbfounded look. She'd hugged him; briefly and not very closely, but still. For that brief instant, he'd smelled her hair: a crisp, clean smell he didn't recognize. It smelled good; really good.

He shook his head as unwanted images began playing in his mind. He was _not _going to do that. _She _wouldn't, for one thing. For another, he didn't even know if vampires' bodies were capable of copulation. The images returned and he fought to banish them. He gave a resigned sigh. He was going to have to do this a lot from now on.

He looked up at Serana's Falmer, which had just snarled at something. It was looking up at the top of the door to the lift. Ptolomey heard clothing rustle just as he remembered: when he'd checked for ambushers, he forgot to look up.

_"Fuck."_

()

Serana was watching her Falmer. Its behavior was strange. It was looking around for something; rather, it was smelling around for something. She'd never had one of her corpses do anything like that before. The Staff truly was incredible. She'd have to experiment some more.

Her Falmer snarled right before she heard something fall behind her. She turned to find Ptolomey lying on his back. Orthjolf knelt on top of him, pinning one arm with his foot and holding the other in his fist. The Nord vampire pressed his war axe against the Arch-Mage's throat.

"You dared to insult Lord Harkon, mage?!" the Nord snarled. His eyes burned with anger. Serana didn't dare intervene. Orthjolf might kill Ptolomey right now instead of later.

The Arch-Mage looked confused. "Who? Oh, you mean the vampire whose ass you kiss? Yes I did." Did he always say stupid things at the worst time?

Orthjolf growled and pulled on Ptolomey's arm. His shoulder popped out of its socket, making Ptolomey grunt in pain. "We have special plans for you, mage," he said with a devilish smile.

He set his war axe down and pulled out a black dagger. He cut a small gash on Ptolomey's hand. Ptolomey's eyes widened then rolled back in his head as he went limp.

Serana started forward but stopped as Orthjolf raised a hand. "Don't interfere, Lady Serana," he said gruffly. "Lord Harkon will forgive you for betraying him this once."

Serana looked up at the wall behind him. "And how am I betraying him?" she asked, keeping him distracted.

"By helping this mortal," he replied as he lifted the unconscious Arch-Mage onto his shoulder. He looked at his cargo. "Oh don't worry. He'll be fine. A little poison Feran cooked up; knocks mages out for hours." He didn't notice Serana's Falmer climbing on the wall behind him.

"I'm not worried," she said. "You should be, though."

Her Falmer leapt onto Orthjolf's back, grabbing at his face. Orthjolf growled in anger and tried to grab the creature with one hand while keeping Ptolomey on his shoulder with the other. The Falmer avoided him and found the hand holding onto Ptolomey. It bit into the flesh with its pointed teeth.

"You fucking little ..." Orthjolf cursed just as Serana shot an Ice Spike at his heart. Unfortunately he turned and the spike hit him in the shoulder. He snarled in pain and finally dropped Ptolomey.

Serana cringed as his body hit the floor, even though he couldn't feel it. She ducked as Orthjolf threw her Falmer at her. The creature hit the wall and something in its body snapped. She heard it disintigrated into ash.

She sent another Ice Spike flying. The Nord sidestepped the missile and grabbed his war axe off the floor. With a loud yell he charged her. She reflexively brought the Staff up to block without knowing if it would survive the blow. Orthjolf swung his war axe down with all his strength.

The Staff survived the blow, but Orthjolf's momentum made him crash into Serana. He pinned her against the wall and loomed over her. "You'll pay for that, milady," he snarled. His eyes left her face and moved down. He leered at what he saw.

Serana's blood boiled in anger and she kicked Orthjolf in the groin. He grunted, backed up several steps, and dropped to his knees. Serana charged an Ice Spear with the Staff and glared down at the vampire kneeling before her.

"_You _don't call me that," she said coldly.

She shot the spear at Orthjolf's chest. It flew right through him and buried itself in the stone wall behind him, his heart stuck partway down its length. His lifeless eyes blinked before his corpse fell forward with a thud.

Serana stared disdainfully at her father's would-be usurper. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Then she remembered Ptolomey. She rushed over to where he was still lying on the floor. She knelt beside him. He was alive; she could hear his heart beating. She'd been to focused on the Staff to hear Orthjolf, and it had nearly been disasterous. But everything had turned out alright. Sort of.

She grabbed hold of Ptolomey's shoulder and shoved it back into its socket. Then she cast a healing spell with the Staff. Her own Restoration skills were meager, given they had no effect on vampires. But with the Staff she could do the Arch-Mage some good. The slash on his hand faded to a small line, and the tendons and muscles in his shoulder would be stitching themselves back together.

She sat down by his head. If what Orthjolf said was true, he'd wake up in a couple hours. It was odd to see him with his eyes closed. Of course, she'd only known him for two weeks and had been with him for less than a day, but it still felt strange.

With his eyes closed, she was forced to look at other parts of him. No, not _those _parts. She looked at his face and was again struck by how handsome he was. Like she'd told him, he looked good with the beard. He seemed determined to shave it off but that would be fine. He'd look just as good without it.

She watched his chest rise then fall as he breathed. She was willing to bet it was as muscular as his arms. She remembered the power she felt in them when he caught her as she fell out of the sarcophagus. She wanted to know for certain. He _was _unconscious. If she just took his robe off ...

Serana shook her head and mentally slapped herself. She was ashamed of herself. Had she _really _just thought that?! She was _not_ a ditzy young teenager. She could control herself. Besides, he wouldn't do that to her. For all his ogling, she knew he wouldn't do that, and she wasn't going to do it to him. No matter how much she wanted to.

A thought came to her. She _could _do that. But was this the best time? Of course it wasn't; this was hardly the place she wanted to be if what she hoped might happen did happen. But it might be the only time. Would he react the way she hoped he might?

_"Well, I'll see how he reacts when he wakes up."_

()

Ptolomey groaned as he woke up. His head didn't hurt but it felt stuffed with wool. Everything was blurry. He couldn't remember where he was. He tried to sit up but something pressed against his chest.

"Don't sit up yet," a beautiful feminine voice told him.

He looked toward the source of the voice. He blinked at the blurry face that appeared; it didn't get any less blurry. After several more attempts, he saw the most beautiful face he'd ever seen in his life. But what he saw the most were golden eyes. They were stunning, and he recognized them.

"Serana? What happened?" he mumbled.

"Orthjolf had some kind of poison on his dagger," she answered. "You've been unconscious for a couple hours."

The wool in his head burned away. He rolled to the side and sprang nimbly to his feet before Serana could stop him. He looked around and was surprised to find himself still in Mzulft. Seeing the vampire who'd attacked him lying on the floor with a gaping hole in his chest was a little surprising too. Serana really _could _handle herself.

"We're safe," she said from behind him. "I killed Orthjolf."

"I see that," he replied, still looking at the corpse. Its heart lie on the floor in a water puddle. "An Ice Spear through the heart; and you used the Staff. Truly amazing, isn't it?"

"It is," she replied. "I used it to block his attack, and it wasn't even chipped."

"Oh, it'll take way more than a steel war axe to break the Staff," he chuckled. "I don't know if it can be broken." He realized that Serana told him she was attacked. "Are you okay?" he asked turning around. What he saw left him gawking.

Serana stood before him, wearing armor that was similar to that worn by the Thieves Guild. Only this didn't have all the pockets and was more formfitting. It hugged her body almost like a second skin. Every curve was accentuated, of which she had plenty. To top it off, the neckline dipped beautifully low. Ptolomey's eyes roamed all over her. He was going to get an earful for that.

He forced his gaze up to Serana's face. She was blushing and smiling shyly at him. Serana? Shyly? Those words shouldn't be in the same sentence like that. Why was she being shy? He'd seen girls act like this when ...

_"Oh no."_

"Um ... Serana?" he managed to force out. His eyes kept falling down to her body. It was hard not to give in and give her what she clearly wanted.

"Yes?" she answered in a small voice. The sound was unbelievably cute coming from her and Ptolomey almost lost control of himself.

He swallowed hard and tried to keep his composure. "You ... you changed your clothes," he stammered stupidly. He did a mental facepalm. So much for composure.

"Yes I did," she said in the same voice. She started walking slowly toward him. Her hips swayed gracefully and enticingly.

Ptolomey didn't think she was trying to be sexy but she was doing it anyway. He forced himself to not back away. Her eyes were fixed steadily on him. Behind the shyness, he could see lust peeking through. It was simmering just underneath the surface.

Something moved behind her. A Falmer was crawling through a hole in the wall. Ptolomey charged a Firebolt and sent it flying in one motion. It struck the Falmer in the face, burning most of it away and smashing its skull against the wall.

Serana spun around to see what had provoked his attack. Seeing the Falmer, she turned back to look at him. The shyness and lust were gone. Ptolomey was extremely grateful to the Falmer for that. Things could have gone very badly.

"We should go," he said, casting Detect Life. He didn't see anything, but the spell had a limited range. "Where there is one Falmer, there are others. They'll be here before too long. I'm going to see what I can learn from the oculory. Stay here and warn me if they come." She nodded in understanding. He trotted down the hall toward the map.

_"You were lucky. Next time you won't have a Falmer to save you."_

**Why was Ptolomey so worked up? What will he learn from the oculory map? Tune in next chapter to find out.**

**Ciao.**


	18. Flying Flower Basket

**This was done quicker than I expected. I hope that doesn't mean it's poorly written. I guess you'll let me know.**

**Enjoy!**

Serana leaned against a stone wall near the Dock Gate of Windhelm. She was waiting for Ptolomey to come back from some place called Sadri's. She was careful her glowing eyes hidden within the shadow of her hood. If she was discovered, she'd have to get out of the city quickly. Vampire attacks had increased dramatically in the last week. Everyone was afraid and angry, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill her.

The people walking by gave her only a passing glance. Normally, a raised hood would arouse as much suspicion as her eyes, but one of the snowstorms Windhelm was so famous for was brewing in the sky. Everyone had their hoods up. The temperature was dropping quickly, so quickly that even she could feel it.

Taking care not to reveal her face, she studied the buildings around her. They were larger than the buildings in Solitude had been before she was sealed away. They were made from grey stone that had none of the wear and tear that the city's outer walls did. The city had been almost completely destroyed in the siege that had ended the recent civil war.

Ptolomey had told her about the siege as they arrived. The war had been going on for four years. The Stormcloaks had been driven out of every hold except Windhelm and the Rift. The Empire's General, Tullius, chose to attack Windhelm and hopefully end the war without needing to take the Rift. The thought was that the Stormcloaks there would give up once Ysgramor's City was taken.

Before the siege, civilians were given the chance to evacuate. Apparently, every non-Nord left, while only a few Nords did the same. The siege lasted for over six months. Casualties were heavy on both sides. On what would be the final day of the siege, Ulfric Stormcloak personally led the city's last sortie. Even though they were clearly defeated, the Stormcloaks chose death in battle over surrender. They were killed to a man. This all happened just over two years ago. All of the buildings had been rebuilt in that short a time.

That was all Ptolomey had said during the four hour trek to Ysgramor's City. He didn't say a word beyond that, not even about what he'd learned from the oculory's map. He'd only told her about Windhelm because she'd asked. She hadn't tried to initiate any conversation either, but she usually didn't have to.

Serana knew his silence was at least partially her fault. He had looked very conflicted when she'd ... "revealed" herself. Maybe she'd gone too far too fast; but it wasn't like she'd completely stripped in front of him. True, her outfit wasn't a whole lot better but it was still clothing. And she knew he liked what he saw. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

Well, whatever the reason, hopefully they could put it behind them and talk again. She wanted to talk about something meaningful. Everything was about vampires in general or life in ancient Skyrim. He hardly ever asked her a personal question.

Was _that _the problem? Did he not care about her? She felt sadness and anger begin to stir. Was everything just a show? Was he only pretending? She was almost certain that wasn't true but she was too put out to think rationally right now. The anger and sadness grew in strength.

"Would you like to buy some flowers? Please?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"_Shit!"_ she swore at herself. All the anger and sadness flew out the window. She'd been too caught up in her thoughts to notice anyone approaching. She carefully peaked from under her hood to see who had spoken.

The voice belonged to a young girl who was perhaps ten years old. She carried a basket filled with common flowers that you could find anywhere there was dirt. She was very cute, with long brown hair and a little button nose. She wore a faded red dress that looked several sizes too small and had a lot of tears in it. She was rather skinny and in desperate need of a bath.

"Ma'am?" she continued in an almost pleading tone. "I picked them just this morning. Just one gold each!"

Serana shut her eyes and willed the child to go somewhere else. The girl pulled at her heartstrings. She recognized that tone. She'd used it countless times to get her mother or her father to pay attention to her. She wanted to help the girl but knew that if she did, the girl would probably run away screaming about her eyes. Her father berated her for being soft-hearted. She was soft-hearted, and at the moment she wished she wasn't.

The little girl gasped. Serana felt a surge of panic. Had she noticed how pale her skin was? She knew she should have drunk more Potions of Blood. Going against her own advice, she looked directly at the girl. She expected to see her turning tail and heading for the nearest grown up.

But the little girl was staring up at the sky. Serana's gaze followed and she stared as well. The girl's flower basket was floating in mid air. It flew in little circles and bobbed up and down. Then it glided down the street. It got lower and lower until it landed in the hand of a grinning Ptolomey.

"Ptolomey!" the little girl cried out in delight. She ran toward him. As she ran, Ptolomey put the basket down and knelt on one knee. The girl lauched herself at him and wrapped his neck in a tight embrace. Ptolomey grunted at the impact and hugged her back.

Serana couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. This little girl knew the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold? Not only knew him but embraced him? Her previous anger and sadness were completely forgotten now. She wanted to know what this was all about. She walked slowly towards them, grateful that there was no one on the streets anymore.

Ptolomey made a choking sound. "Sofie," he rasped. "Can't ... breathe." Sofie released his neck. He gasped unnecessarily loudly and collapsed to the paving stones. Sofie stood beside him and giggled as he lay on his back panting like he'd run for miles.

"How did you do that?!" she asked excitedly.

Ptolomey looked at her, confused. "Do what?" he asked.

"Make my basket fly!" she answered.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I was just walking down the street, minding my own business, when a wild flower basket appeared and attacked me."

Sofie tried to make a scolding face and put her fists on her hips. "Ptolomey, I know you made my basket fly," she said in an adorably pathetic attempt to sound angry. Serana couldn't help but smile.

Ptolomey sighed. "I can't get away with anything," he moped. Sofie giggled and flopped on top of him, her knee hitting him in the most sensitive of places. He grunted and tried to curl up into a ball. "Sofie," he groaned, "I've told you. You can't hit me there."

"I didn't mean to," she said in a small voice.

"I know you didn't," he answered in a strained but gentle voice. "Please be more careful, okay?" He openned his eyes again.

"Okay," she replied. She squinted and leaned closer to his face. "Ptolomey? What happened to your eyes?"

The Arch-Mage sighed. "I told you before, honey. I don't know why they change color."

Serana frowned. Change color? What on Nirn was he talking about? His eyes shifted different shades of green but they didn't change color. Or was that what he meant?

Sofie looked confused as well. "They're green," she said.

He put on a patient expression. "And what color are they now?" he asked.

"Green," she answered.

"What color were they in between?" he asked.

"Green," she answered, a little exasperated. "They're green all the time."

Now it was Ptolomey's turn to frown. His green eyes moved back and forth, like they always did when he was thinking or trying to remember something. They suddenly grew very intense. He gently pushed Sofie off of him and rose to his feet.

He faced Serana. "What color were my eyes when we met?" he asked.

She was a little taken aback by his intensity. "They were green," she answered. Ptolomey looked perplexed and started pacing back and forth, stroking his beard. This was very interesting. She added it to the list of things she wanted to ask him.

Sofie stared at him for a moment before shifting her gave to Serana. Her brown eyes widened slightly when she saw her glowing yellow eyes. They were just surprised, though, not afraid. "You know Ptolomey?" she asked.

Serana didn't avoid eye contact. "Yes I do," she replied.

"You didn't see his eyes change color?" Sofie asked. "It was so neat," she continued excitedly before Serana could answer. "They'd be blue, then red, then black, then green, then red, then blue, then yellow, then purple, then white. It was amazing!" Her expression turned a little sad. "Too bad they don't anymore. It was fun to guess which color they'd turn next."

Ptolomey stopped his pacing. "Where are my manners?" he asked no one. He stood between Serana and Sofie. "Serana, this is Sofie. Sofie, this is Serana." The two of them nodded and smiled at each other. He knelt down by Sofie. "This is very serious. You have to promise not to tell anyone else what I'm about to tell you. Okay, Sofie?"

Sofie looked at Serana then back at Ptolomey with wide eyes. "Did you get married?" she asked, quivering with barely contained excitement.

Ptolomey turned red as a beet, smiled awkwardly, and cleared his throat. "No no no," he said quickly. "No, I didn't get married." Serana grinned and blushed only a little. It was nice to see _him _embarrassed for a change.

"Well you should," Sofie pouted. "She's pretty."

"Yes, she's very pretty," Ptolomey replied.

This time Serana did blush; every ounce of blood in her rushed to her cheeks. She turned away, in case Ptolomey decided to turn and look at her. It wouldn't do for him to see her like that.

"I'm serious, honey," Ptolomey reiterated. "Don't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you."

"Okay, I promise," Sofie said seriously.

"Serana is a vampire," the Arch-Mage said quietly.

Serana spun back around, the blood draining from her face. He told this little girl that she was a vampire?! Why?! The first thing she'd do is run off screaming!

Surprisingly, instead of terror, understanding dawned in Sofie's eyes. "Ohhh. Is that why her eyes are glowing?"

Serana could hear the smile on Ptolomey's face. "Yes," he replied. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

All her blood rushed back into her cheeks again. She put her hand over her face to try to cover it up. This was getting ridiculous. She shouldn't be this embarrassed. Hadn't she said she wasn't a ditzy young teenager? Then again, she'd never really been complimented before. Not genuinely, anway. People would say anything if they thought they could get some advantage because of it. She'd seen too much of that in her life.

Second nature told her that was what Ptolomey was doing. She'd taught herself to rely only on herself, and that people looked out only for themselves. But she didn't want to believe that now. She wanted to believe that Ptolomey _did _care about her, and that he meant what he said. But as the proverbial "they" say, old habits die hard.

"Yeah, they are," Sofie agreed, pulling Serana out of her pondering. "Can I have eyes like that?"

"No, honey," Ptolomey said gently. "You can't. But I'll tell you what you can have," he continued in a lighter tone. "I'm going to get you a new dress. You're too big for this one." Sofie's eyes gleamed with delight. "Then we'll go to Candlehearth Hall and you can have a bath."

The delight in Sofie's eyes dimmed slightly. "But I don't need a bath," she protested.

"Yes you do," he said, his tone brooking no nonsense. "And trust me, you'll feel a lot better after. Now lets go get you that dress." He turned to Serana. "It'll be better if you come with us into Sadri's, Serana. The next person who talks to you may not be so adorable," he said.

Sofie giggled and blushed at the Arch-Mage's compliment. She picked up her flower basket and grabbed Ptolomey's hand. Ptolomey waited for Serana to join them before starting off down the street to Sadri's. Sofie skipped and hummed happily.

Serana watched Ptolomey out of the corner of her eye. He smiled down at Sofie when she smiled up at him. But when she looked away, his expression change to sadness. He looked sadder than he had looked after recalling Savos Aren's death. He'd clearly regarded Savos as a father figure. And now he looked sadder than when he'd talked about his death. Something about Sofie made him sad.

_"How does he know this child?"_

**I was going to put more in this chapter but I decided it was long enough. I was surprised to see how small the scrollbar was when I got to this point. Weird huh?**

**It's true about Sofie; and the other orphans in Dawnstar, Solitude, and Whiterun. I avoid them, cuz I don't have a house for them and if I leave them I'll hate myself. I know, I'm pathetic. **

**Next chapter will come soon. Hopefully.**

**Ciao. **


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